THE 

GOLDEN  SNARE 


JAMES  OLIVER  CUKWOOD 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 


THE 

GOLDEN  SNARE 


BY 

JAMES  OLIVER  CURWOOD 

AUTHOR  OF 

KAZAN,  THE  DANGER  TRAIL, 

THE  COURAGE  OF  MARGE  O'DOONE, 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


KUde  in  the  United  States  of  America 


.  -no.  1  in  0 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
COSMOPOLITAN  BOOK  CORPORATION 


LOAN  STACK 


MAIM 
THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

CHAPTER  I 

BEAM  JOHNSON  was  an  unusual  man,  even  for 
the  northland.  He  was,  above  all  other  things, 
a  creature  of  environment — and  necessity,  and  of 
that  something  else  which  made  of  him  at  times 
a  man  with  a  soul,  and  at  others  a  brute  with  the 
heart  of  a  devil.  In  this  story  of  Bram,  and  the 
girl,  and  the  other  man,  Bram  himself  should  not 
be  blamed  too  much.  He  was  pathetic,  and  yet 
he  was  terrible.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  really  had 
what  is  generally  regarded  as  a  soul.  If  he  did, 
it  was  hidden — hidden  to  the  forests  and  the  wild 
things  that  had  made  him. 

Brain's  story  started  long  before  he  was  born, 
at  least  three  generations  before.  That  was  be 
fore  the  Johnsons  had  gone  north  of  Sixty.  But 
they  were  wandering,  and  steadily  upward.  If 
one  puts  a  canoe  in  the  Lower  Athabasca  and 
travels  northward  to  the  Great  Slave  and  thence- 

1 

458 


2  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

up  the  Mackenzie  to  the  Arctic  he  will  note  a 
number  of  remarkable  ethnological  changes.  The 
racial  characteristics  of  the  world  he  is  entering 
change  swiftly.  The  thin-faced  Chippewa  with 
his  alert  movements  and  high-bowed  canoe  turns 
into  the  slower  moving  Cree,  with  his  broader 
cheeks,  his  more  slanting  eyes,  and  his  racier 
birchbark.  And  even  the  Cree  changes  as  he 
lives  farther  north;  each  new  tribe  is  a  little  dif 
ferent  from  its  southernmost  neighbor,  until  at 
last  the  Cree  looks  like  a  Jap,  and  the  Chippewyan 
takes  his  place.  And  the  Chippewyan  takes  up 
the  story  of  life  where  the  Cree  left  off.  Nearer 
the  Arctic  his  canoe  becomes  a  skin  kaiak,  his  face 
is  still  broader,  his  eyes  like  a  Chinaman's,  and 
writers  of  human  history  call  him  Eskimo. 

The  Johnsons,  once  they  started,  did  not  stop 
at  any  particular  point.  There  was  probably  only 
one  Johnson  in  the  beginning  of  that  hundred 
year  story  which  was  to  have  its  finality  in  Bram. 
But  there  were  more  in  time.  The  Johnson  blood 
mixed  itself  first  with  the  Chippewa,  and  then 
with  the  Cree — and  the  Cree-Chippewa  Johnson 
blood,  when  at  last  it  reached  the  Eskimo,  had 
in  it  also  a  strain  of  Chippewyan.  It  is  curious 
how  the  name  itself  lived.  Johnson!  One  en 
tered  a  tepee  or  a  cabin  expecting  to  find  there 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  3 

a  white  man,  and  was  startled  when  he  discovered 
the  truth. 

Bram,  after  nearly  a  century  of  this  intermix 
ing  of  bloods,  was  a  throwback — a  white  man,  so 
far  as  his  skin  and  his  hair  and  his  eyes  went.  In 
other  physical  ways  he  held  to  the  type  of  his  half- 
strain  Eskimo  mother,  except  in  size.  He  was  sii 
feet,  and  a  giant  in  strength.  His  face  was  broad, 
his  cheek-bones  high,  his  lips  thick,  his  nose  flat. 
And  he  was  white.  That  was  the  shocking  thing 
about  it  all.  Even  his  hair  was  a  reddish  blonde, 
wild  and  coarse  and  ragged  like  a  lion's  mane,  and 
his  eyes  were  sometimes  of  a  curious  blue,  and  at 
others — when  he  was  angered — green  like  a  cat's 
at  night-time. 

No  man  knew  Bram  for  a  friend.  He  was  a 
mystery.  He  never  remained  at  a  post  longer 
than  was  necessary  to  exchange  his  furs  for  sup 
plies,  and  it  might  be  months  or  even  years  before 
he  returned  to  that  particular  post  again.  He  was 
ceaselessly  wandering.  More  or  less  the  Eoyal 
Northwest  Mounted  Police  kept  track  of  him,  and 
in  many  reports  of  faraway  patrols  filed  at  Head 
quarters  there  are  the  laconic  words,  "We  saw 
Bram  and  his  wolves  traveling  northward "  or 
"Bram  and  his  wolves  passed  us" — always  Bram 
and  his  wolves.  For  two  years  the  Police  lost 


4  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

track  of  him.  That  was  when  Bram  was  buried 
in  the  heart  of  the  Sulphur  Country  east  of  the 
Great  Bear.  After  that  the  Police  kept  an  even 
closer  watch  on  him,  waiting,  and  expecting  some 
thing  to  happen.  And  then — the  something  came* 
Bram  killed  a  man.  He  did  it  so  neatly  and  feo 
easily,  breaking  him  as  he  might  have  broken  a 
stick,  that  he  was  well  off  in  flight  before  it  was 
discovered  that  his  victim  was  dead.  The  next 
tragedy  followed  quickly — a  fortnight  later,  when 
Corporal  Lee  and  a  private  from  the  Fort 
Churchill  barracks  closed  in  on  him  out  on  the  edge 
of  the  Barren.  Bram  didn't  fire  a  shot.  They 
<jould  hear  his  great,  strange  laugh  when  they 
were  still  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  from  him. 
Bram  merely  set  loose  his  wolves.  By  a  miracle 
Corporal  Lee  lived  to  drag  himself  to  a  half- 
breed's  cabin,  where  he  died  a  little  later,  and  the 
halfbreed  brought  the  story  to  Fort  Churchill. 

After  this,  Bram  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of 
the  world.  What  he  lived  in  those  four  or  five 
years  that  followed  would  well  be  worth  his  par 
don  if  his  experiences  could  be  made  to  appear 
between  the  covers  of  a  book.  Bram — and  Ms 
wolves!  Think  of  it.  Alone.  In  all  that  time 
without  a  voice  to  talk  to  him.  Not  once  appear 
ing  at  a  post  for  food.  A  loup-garou.  An  ani- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNAIIE  5 

mal-man.  A  companion  of  wolves.  By  the  end 
of  the  third  year  there  was  not  a  drop  of  dog- 
blood  in  his  pack.  It  was  wolf,  all  wolf.  From 
whelps  he  brought  the  wolves  up,  until  he  had 
twenty  in  his  pack.  They  were  monsters,  for  the 
undergrown  ones  he  killed.  Perhaps  he  would 
have  given  them  freedom  in  place  of  death,  but 
these  wolf -beasts  of  Bram's  would  not  accept  free 
dom.  In  him  they  recognized  instinctively  the 
super-beast,  and  they  were  his  slaves.  And 
Bram,  monstrous  and  half  animal  himself,  loved 
them.  To  him  they  were  brother,  sister,  wife — 
all  creation.  He  slept  with  them,  and  ate  with 
them,  and  starved  with  them  when  food  was 
scarce.  They  were  comradeship  and  protection. 
"When  Bram  wanted  meat,  and  there  was  meat  in 
the  country,  he  would  set  his  wolf -horde  on  the 
trail  of  a  caribou  or  a  moose,  and  if  they  drove 
half  a  dozen  miles  ahead  of  Bram  himself  tfcere 
would  always  be  plenty  of  meat  left  on  the  bones 
when  he  arrived.  Four  years  of  that!  The 
Police  would  not  believe  it.  They  laughed  a£  the 
occasional  rumors  that  drifted  in  from  the  far 
places ;  rumors  that  Bram  had  been  seen,  and  that 
his  great  voice  had  been  heard  rising  above  the 
howl  of  his  pack  on  still  winter  nights,  and  that 
halfbreeds  and  Indians  had  come  upon  his  ti  ails, 


6  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

here  and  there — at  widely  divergent  places.  It 
was  the  French  halfbreed  superstition  of  the 
chasse-galere  that  chiefly  made  them  disbelieve, 
rmd  the  chasse-galere  is  a  thing  not  to  be  laughed 
at  in  the  northland.  It  is  composed  of  creatures 
who  have  sold  their  souls  to  the  devil  for  the 
power  of  navigating  the  air,  and  there  were  those 
who  swore  with  their  hands  on  the  crucifix  of  the 
Virgin  that  they  had  with  their  own  eyes  seen 
Bram  and  his  wolves  pursuing  the  shadowy  forms 
of  great  beasts  through  the  skies. 

So  the  Police  believed  that  Bram  was  dead ;  and 
Bram,  meanwhile,  keeping  himself  from  all  human 
eyes,  was  becoming  more  and  more  each  day  like 
the  wolves  who  were  his  brothers.  But  the  white 
blood  in  a  man  dies  hard,  and  always  there 
flickered  in  the  heart  of  Bram's  huge  chest  a  great 
yearning.  It  must  at  times  have  been  worse  than 
death — that  yearning  to  hear  a  human  voice,  to 
have  a  human  creature  to  speak  to,  though  never 
had  he  loved  man  or  woman.  Which  brings  us  at 
last  to  the  final  tremendous  climax  in  Bram's  life 
—to  the  girl,  and  the  other  man. 


CHAPTER  H 

THE  other  man  was  Eaine — Philip  Baine. 

To-night  he  sat  in  Pierre  Breault^s  cabin,  with 
Pierre  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  between 
them,  and  the  cabin's  sheet  iron  stove  blazing  red 
just  beyond.  It  was  a  terrible  night  outside. 
Pierre,  the  fox  hunter,  had  built  his  shack  at  the 
end  of  a  long  slim  forefinger  of  scrub  spruce  that 
reached  out  into  the  Barren,  and  to-night  the  wind 
was  wailing  and  moaning  over  the  open  spaces 
in  a  way  that  made  Eaine  shiver.  Close  to  the 
east  was  Hudson's  Bay — so  close  that  a  few  mo 
ments  before  when  Eaine  had  opened  the  cabin 
door  there  came  to  him  the  low,  never-ceasing 
thunder  of  the  under-currents  fighting  their  way 
down  through  the  Eoes  Welcome  from  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  broken  now  and  then  by  a  growling  roar 
as  the  giant  forces  sent  a  crack,  like  a  great  knife, 
through  one  of  the  frozen  mountains.  Westward 
from  Pierre's  cabin  there  stretched  the  lifeless 
Barren,  illimitable  and  void,  without  rock  or 
bush,  and  overhung  at  day  by  a  sky  that  always 


8  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

made  Baine  think  of  a  terrible  picture  he  had  once 
seen  of  Dore's  "Inferno" — a  low,  thick  sky,  like 
purple  and  blue  granite,  always  threatening  to 
pitch  itself  down  in  terrific  avalanches.  And  at 
night,  when  the  white  foxes  yapped,  and  the  wind 
moaned 

"As  I  have  hope  of  paradise  I  swear  that  I  saw 
him — alive,  M'sieu,"  Pierre  was  saying  again  over 
the  table. 

Baine,  of  the  Fort  Churchill  patrol  of  the  Boyal 
Northwest  Mounted  Police,  no  longer  smiled  in 
disbelief.  He  knew  that  Pierre  Breault  was  a 
brave  man,  or  he  would  not  have  perched  himself 
alone  out  in  the  heart  of  the  Barren  to  catch  the 
white  foxes;  and  he  was  not  superstitious,  like 
most  of  his  kind,  or  the  sobbing  cries  and  strife 
of  the  everlasting  night-winds  would  have  driven 
him  away. 

"I  swear  it!"  repeated  Pierre. 

Something  that  was  almost  eagerness  was  burn 
ing  now  in  Philip's  face.  He  leaned  over  the 
table,  his  hands  gripping  tightly.  He  was  thirty- 
five;  almost  slim  as  Pierre  himself,  with  eyes  as 
steely  blue  as  Pierre's  were  black.  There  was  a 
time,  away  back,  when  he  wore  a  dress  suit  as 
no  other  man  in  the  big  western  city  where  he 
lived ;  now  the  sleeves  of  his  caribou  skin  coat  were 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  9 

frayed  and  torn,  his  hands  were  knotted,  in  his 
face  were  the  lines  of  storm  and  wind. 

*  '  It  is  impossible, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Bram  Johnson  is 
dead!" 

"He  is  alive,  M'sieu." 

In  Pierre's  voice  there  was  a  strange  tremble. 

"If  I  had  only  heard,  if  I  had  not  seen,  you 
might  disbelieve,  M'sieu,"  he  cried,  his  eyes  glow 
ing  with  a  dark  fire.  '  '  Yes,  I  heard  the  ciy  of  the 
pack  first,  and  I  went  to  the  door,  and  opened  it, 
and  stood  there  listening  and  looking  out  into  the 
night.  Ugh!  they  went  near.  I  could  hear  the 
hoofs  of  the  caribou.  And  then  I  heard  a  great 
cry,  a  voice  that  rose  above  the  howl  of  the  wolves 
like  the  voice  of  ten  men,  and  I  knew  that  Bram 
Johnson  was  on  the  trail  of  meat.  Mon  dieu — 
yes — he  is  alive.  And  that  is  not  all.  No.  No. 
That  is  not  all " 

His  fingers  were  twitching.  For  the  third  or 
fourth  time  in  the  last  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
Eaine  saw  him  fighting  back  a  strange  excitement. 
His  own  incredulity  was  gone.  He  was  beginning 
to  believe  Pierre. 

"Aad  after  that— you  saw  him?" 

"Yes.  I  would  not  do  again  what  I  did  then 
for  all  the  foxes  between  the  Athabasca  and  the 
Bay,  M'sieu.  It  must  have  been — I  don't  know 


10  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

what.  It  dragged  me  out  into  the  night.  I  fol 
lowed.  I  found  the  trail  of  the  wolves,  and  I 
found  the  snowshoe  tracks  of  a  man.  Oui.  I  still 
followed.  I  came  close  to  the  kill,  with  the  wind 
in  my  face,  and  I  could  hear  the  snapping  of  jaws 
and  the  rending  of  flesh — yes — yes — and  a  man's 
terrible  laugh!  If  the  wind  had  shifted — if  that 
pack  of  devils'  souls  had  caught  the  smell  of  me 
— tonnerre  de  dieu!"  He  shuddered,  and  the 
knuckles  of  his  fingers  snapped  as  he  clenched  and 
unclenched  his  hands.  "But  I  stayed  there, 
M'sieu,  half  buried  in  a  snow  dune.  They  went 
on  after  a  long  time.  It  was  so  dark  I  could  not 
see  them.  I  went  to  the  kill  then,  and — yes,  he 
had  carried  away  the  two  hind  quarters  of  the 
caribou.  It  was  a  bull,  too,  and  heavy.  I  fol 
lowed — clean  across  that  strip  of  Barren  down  to 
the  timber,  and  it  was  there  that  Bram  built  him 
self  the  fire.  I  could  see  him  then,  and  I  swear  by 
the  Blessed  Virgin  that  it  was  Bram !  Long  ago, 
before  he  killed  the  man,  he  came  twice  to  my  cabin 
— and  he  had  not  changed.  And  around  him,  in 
the  fire-glow,  the  wolves  huddled.  It  was  then 
that  I  came  to  my  reason.  I  could  see  him  fon 
dling  them.  I  could  see  their  gleaming  fangs. 
Yes,  I  could  'hear  their  bodies,  and  he  was  talking 
to  them  and  laughing  with  them  through  his  great 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  11 

beard — and  I  turned  and  fled  back  to  the  cabin, 
running  so  swiftly  that  even  the  wolves  would 
have  had  trouble  in  catching  me.  And  that — that 
— was  not  all!" 

Again  his  fingers  were  clenching  and  unclench 
ing  as  he  stared  at  Eaine. 

"You  believe  me,  M'sieu?" 

Philip  nodded. 

"It  seems  impossible.  And  yet — you  could  not 
have  been  dreaming,  Pierre. ' ' 

Breault  drew  a  deep  breath  of  satisfaction,  and 
half  rose  to  his  feet. 

"And  you  will  believe  me  if  I  tell  you  the  rest!  " 

"Yes." 

Swiftly  Pierre  went  to  his  bunk  and  returned 
with  the  caribou  skin  pouch  in  which  he  carried 
his  flint  and  steel  and  fire  material  for  the  trail. 

"The  next  day  I  went  back,  M'sieu,"  he  said, 
seating  himself  again  opposite  Philip.  "Bram 
and  his  wolves  were  gone.  He  had  slept  in  a 
shelter  of  spruce  boughs.  And — and — par  les 
mille  comes  du  diable  if  he  had  even  brushed  the 
snow  out!  His  great  moccasin  tracks  were  all 
about  among  the  tracks  of  the  wolves,  and  they 
were  big  as  the  spoor  of  a  monster  bear.  I 
searched  everywhere  for  something  that  he  might 
have  left,  and  I  found— at  last— a  rabbit  snare." 


12  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Pierre  Breault's  eyes,  and  not  his  words — and 
the  curious  twisting  and  interlocking  of  his  long 
slim  fingers  about  the  caribou-skin  bag  in  his  hand 
stirred  Philip  with  the  thrill  of  a  tense  and 
mysterious  anticipation,  and  as  he  waited,  uttering 
no  word,  Pierre's  fingers  opened  the  sack,  and  he 
said: 

"A  rabbit  snare,  M'sieu,  which  had  dropped 
from  his  pocket  into  the  snow " 

In  another  moment  he  had  given  it  into  Philip's 
hands.  The  oil  lamp  was  hung  straight  above 
them.  Its  light  flooded  the  table  between  them, 
and  from  Philip's  lips,  as  he  stared  at  the  snare, 
there  broke  a  gasp  of  amazement.  Pierre  had  ex 
pected  that  cry.  He  had  at  first  been  disbelieved ; 
now  his  face  burned  with  triumph.  It  seemed,  for 
a  space,  as  if  Philip  had  ceased  breathing.  He 
stared — stared — while  the  light  from  above  him 
scintillated  on  the  thing  he  held.  It  was  a  snare. 
There  could  be  no  doubt  of  that.  It  was  almost 
a  yard  in  length,  with  the  curious  Chippewyan 
loop  at  one  end  and  the  double-knot  at  the  other. 

The  amazing  thing  about  it  was  that  it  was 
made  of  a  woman's  golden  hair. 


CHAPTEE  III 

THE  process  of  mental  induction  occasionally 
does  not  pause  to  reason  its  way,  but  leaps  to  an 
immediate  and  startling  finality,  which,  by  reason 
of  its  very  suddenness,  is  for  a  space  like  the 
shock  of  a  sudden  blow.  After  that  one  gasp  of 
amazement  Philip  made  no  sound.  He  spoke  no 
word  to  Pierre.  In  a  sudden  lull  of  the  wind 
sweeping  over  the  cabin  the  ticking  of  his  watch 
was  like  the  beating  of  a  tiny  drum.  Then,  slowly, 
his  eyes  rose  from  the  silken  thread  in  his  fingers 
and  met  Pierre's.  Each  knew  what  the  other  was 
thinking.  If  the  hair  had  been  black.  If  it  had 
been  brown.  Even  had  it  been  of  the  coarse  red 
of  the  blond  Eskimo  of  the  upper  Mackenzie !  But 
it  was  gold — shimmering  gold. 

Still  without  speaking,  Philip  drew  a  knife  from 
his  pocket  and  cut  the  shining  thread  above  the 
second  knot,  and  worked  at  the  finely  wrought 
weaving  of  the  silken  filaments  until  a  tress  of 
hair,  crinkled  and  waving,  lay  on  the  table  before 
them.  If  he  had  possessed  a  doubt,  it  was  gone 

18 


14  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

now.  He  could  not  remember  where  lie  had  ever 
seen  just  that  colored  gold  in  a  woman's  hair. 
Probably  he  had,  at  one  time  or  another.  It  was 
not  red  gold.  It  possessed  no  coppery  shades  and 
lights  as  it  rippled  there  in  the  lampglow.  It  was 
flaxen,  and  like  spun  silk — so  fine  that,  as  he  looked 
at  it,  he  marveled  at  the  patience  that  had  woven 
it  into  a  snare.  Again  he  looked  at  Pierre.  The 
same  question  was  in  their  eyes. 

"It  must  be — that  Bram  has  a  woman  with 
him, ' '  said  Pierre. 

'  '  It  must  be, ' '  said  Philip.    ' '  Or ' ' 

That  final  word,  its  voiceless  significance,  the 
inflection  which  Philip  gave  to  it  as  he  gazed  at 
Pierre,  stood  for  the  one  tremendous  question 
which,  for  a  space,  possessed  the  mind  of  each. 
Pierre  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  could  not 
answer  it.  And  as  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  he 
shivered,  and  at  a  sudden  blast  of  the  wind  against 
the  cabin  door  he  turned  quickly,  as  though  he 
thought  the  blow  might  have  been  struck  by  a  hu 
man  hand. 

"Didblel"  he  cried,  recovering  himself,  his 
white  teeth  flashing  a  smile  at  Philip.  "It  has 
made  me  nervous — what  I  saw  there  in  the  light 
of  the  campfire,  M'sieu.  Bram,  and  his  wolves, 
and  thatl" 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  15 

He  nodded  at  the  shimmering  strands. 

"You  have  never  seen  hair  the  color  of  this, 
Pierre?" 

"Non.    In  all  my  life — not  once. ' ' 

"And  yet  you  have  seen  white  women  at  Fort 
Churchill,  at  York  Factory,  at  Lac  la  Biche,  at 
Cumberland  House,  and  Norway  House,  and  at 
Fort  Albany?" 

"Ah-h-h,  and  at  many  other  places,  M'sieu.  At 
God's  Lake,  at  Lac  Seul,  and  over  on  the  Mac 
kenzie — and  never  have  I  seen  hair  on  a  woman 
like  that." 

"And  Bram  has  never  been  out  of  the  north- 
land,  never  farther  south  than  Fort  Chippewyan 
that  we  know  of,"  said  Philip.  "It  makes  one 
shiver,  eh,  Pierre?  It  makes  one  think  of — what? 
Can't  you  answer?  Isn't  it  in  your  mind?" 

French  and  Cree  were  mixed  half  and  half  in 
Pierre's  blood.  The  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated  as 
he  met  Philip 's  steady  gaze. 

"It  makes  one  think,"  he  replied  uneasily,  "of 
the  chasse-galere  and  the  loup-garou,  and — and — 
almost  makes  one  believe.  I  am  not  superstitious, 
M'sieu — non — non — I  am  not  superstitious,"  he 
cried  still  more  uneasily.  "But  many  strange 
things  are  told  about  Bram  and  his  wolves ; — that 
he  has  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil,  and  can  travel 


1(5  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

through  the  air,  and  that  he  can  change  himself 
into  the  form  of  a  wolf  at  will.  There  are  those 
who  have  heard  him  singing  the  Chanson  de 
Voyageur  to  the  howling  of  his  wolves  away  up 
in  the  sky.  I  have  seen  them,  and  talked  with 
them,  and  over  on  the  McLeod  I  saw  a  whole  tribe 
making  incantation  because  they  had  seen  Bram 
and  his  wolves  building  themselves  a  conjuror 's 
house  in  the  heart  of  a  thunder-cloud.  So — is  it 
strange  that  he  should  snare  rabbits  with  a 
woman's  hair?" 

"And  change  black  into  the  color  of  the  sun?" 
added  Philip,  falling  purposely  into  the  other's 
humor. 

"If  the  rest  is  true " 

Pierre  did  not  finish.  He  caught  himself, 
swallowing  hard,  as  though  a  lump  had  risen  in  his 
throat,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  Philip  saw  him 
fighting  with  himself,  struggling  with  the  age-old 
superstitions  which  had  flared  up  for  an  instant 
like  a  powder-flash.  His  jaws  tightened,  and  he 
threw  back  his  head. 

"But  those  stories  are  not  true,  M'sieu,"  he 
added  in  a  repressed  voice.  "That  is  why  I 
showed  you  the  snare.  Bram  Johnson  is  not  dead. 
He  is  alive.  And  there  is  a  woman  with  him, 
or " 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  17 

"Or " 

The  same  thought  was  in  their  eyes  again.  And 
again  neither  gave  voice  to  it.  Carefully  Philip 
was  gathering  up  the  strands  of  hair,  winding 
them  about  his  forefinger,  and  placing  them  after 
ward  in  a  leather  wallet  which  he  took  from  his 
pocket.  Then,  quite  casually,  he  loaded  his  pipe 
and  lighted  it.  He  went  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  for  a  few  moments  stood  listening  to  the 
screech  of  the  wind  over  the  Barren.  Pierre,  still 
seated  at  the  table,  watched  him  attentively. 
Philip's  mind  was  made  up  when  he  closed  the 
door  and  faced  the  halfbreed  again. 

"It  is  three  hundred  miles  from  here  to  Fort 
Churchill, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Half  way,  at  the  lower  end 
of  Jesuche  Lake,  MacVeigh  and  his  patrol  have 
made  their  headquarters.  If  I  go  after  Bram, 
Pierre,  I  must  first  make  certain  of  getting  a  mes 
sage  to  MacVeigh,  and  he  will  see  that  it  gets  to 
Fort  Churchill.  Can  you  leave  your  foxes  and 
poison-baits  and  your  deadfalls  long  enough  for 
that?" 

A  moment  Pierre  hesitated. 

Then  he  said : 

"I  will  take  the  message. " 

Until  late  that  night  Philip  sat  up  writing  his 
report.  He  had  started  out  to  run  down  a  band 


18  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

of  Indian  thieves.  More  important  business  had 
crossed  his  trail,  and  he  explained  the  whole 
matter  to  Superintendent  Fitzgerald,  commanding 
"M"  Division  at  Fort  Churchill.  He  told  Pierre 
Breault's  story  as  he  had  heard  it.  He  gave  his 
reasons  for  believing  it,  and  that  Bram  Johnson, 
three  times  a  murderer,  was  alive.  He  asked  that 
another  man  be  sent  after  the  Indians,  and  ex 
plained,  as  nearly  as  he  could,  the  direction  he 
would  take  in  his  pursuit  of  Bram. 

When  the  report  was  finished  and  sealed  he  had 
omitted  just  one  thing. 

Not  a  word  had  he  written  about  the  rabbit 
snare  woven  from  a  woman's  hair. 


CHAPTEE  IV 

THE  next  morning  the  tail  of  the  storm  was  still 
sweeping  bitterly  over  the  edge  of  the  Barren,  but 
Philip  set  out,  with  Pierre  Breault  as  his  guide, 
for  the  place  where  the  halfbreed  had  seen  Bram 
Johnson  and  his  wolves  in  camp.  Three  days  had 
passed  since  that  exciting  night,  and  when  they 
arrived  at  the  spot  where  Bram  had  slept  the 
spruce  shelter  was  half  buried  in  a  windrow  of  the 
hard,  shotlike  snow  that  the  blizzard  had  rolled 
in  off  the  open  spaces. 

From  this  point  Pierre  marked  off  accurately 
the  direction  Bram  had  taken  the  morning  after 
the  hunt,  and  Philip  drew  the  point  of  his  compass 
to  the  now  invisible  trail.  Almost  instantly  he 
drew  his  conclusion. 

"Bram  is  keeping  to  the  scrub  timber  along  the 
edge  of  the  Barren, "  he  said  to  Pierre.  "That 
is  where  I  shall  follow.  You  might  add  that  much 
to  what  I  have  written  to  MacVeigh.  But  about 
the  snare,  Pierre  Breault,  say  not  a  word.  Do  you 

19 


20  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

understand?  If  he  is  a  loup-garou  man,  and 
weaves  golden  hairs  out  of  the  winds " 

"I  will  say  nothing,  M'sieu,"  shuddered  Pierre. 

They  shook  hands,  and  parted  in  silence. 
Philip  set  his  face  to  the  west,  and  a  few  moments 
later,  looking  back,  he  could  no  longer  see  Pierre. 
For  an  hour  after  that  he  was  oppressed  by  the 
feeling  that  he  was  voluntarily  taking  a  desperate 
chance.  For  reasons  which  he  had  arrived  at  dur 
ing  the  night  he  had  left  his  dogs  and  sledge  with 
Pierre,  and  was  traveling  light.  In  his  forty- 
pound  pack,  fitted  snugly  to  his  shoulders,  were  a 
three  pound  silk  service-tent  that  was  impervious 
to  the  fiercest  wind,  and  an  equal  weight  of  cook 
ing  utensils.  The  rest  of  his  burden,  outside  of 
his  rifle,  his  Colt's  revolver  and  his  ammunition, 
was  made  up  of  rations,  so  much  of  which  was 
scientifically  compressed  into  dehydrated  and 
powder  form  that  he  carried  on  his  back,  in  a 
matter  of  thirty  pounds,  food  sufficient  for  a 
month  if  he  provided  his  meat  on  the  trail.  The 
chief  article  in  this  provision  was  fifteen  pounds 
of  flour ;  four  dozen  eggs  he  carried  in  one  pound 
of  egg  powder;  twenty-eight  pounds  of  potatoes 
in  four  pounds  of  the  dehydrated  article;  four 
pounds  of  onions  in  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  the 
concentration,  and  so  on  through  the  list 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  21 

He  laughed  a  little  grimly  as  lie  thought  of 
this  concentrated  efficiency  in  the  pack  on  his 
shoulders.  In  a  curious  sort  of  way  it  reminded 
him  of  other  days,  and  he  wondered  what  some 
of  his  oldtime  friends  would  say  if  he  could,  by 
some  magic  endowment,  assemble  them  here  for 
a  feast  on  the  trail.  He  wondered  especially  what 
Mignon  Davenport  would  say — and  do.  P-f-f-f! 
He  could  see  the  blue-blooded  horror  in  her  aristo 
cratic  face!  That  wind  from  over  the  Barren 
would  curdle  the  life  in  her  veins.  She  would 
shrivel  up  and  die.  He  considered  himself  a 
fairly  good  judge  in  the  matter,  for  once  upon  a 
time  he  thought  that  he  was  going  to  marry  her. 
Strange  why  he  should  think  of  her  now,  he  told 
himself;  but  for  all  that  he  could  not  get  rid  of 
her  for  a  time.  And  thinking  of  her,  his  mind 
traveled  back  into  the  old  days,  even  as  he  followed 
over  the  hidden  trail  of  Bram.  Undoubtedly  a 
great  many  of  his  old  friends  had  forgotten  him. 
Five  years  was  a  long  time,  and  friendship  in  the 
set  to  which  he  belonged  was  not  famous  for  its 
longevity.  Nor  love,  for  that  matter.  Mignon 
had  convinced  him  of  that.  He  grimaced,  and  in 
the  teeth  of  the  wind  he  chuckled.  Fate  was  a 
playful  old  chap.  It  was  a  good  joke  he  had 
played  on  him — first  a  bit  of  pneumonia,  then  a 


22  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

set  of  bad  lungs  afflicted  with  that  "galloping" 
something-or-other  that  hollows  one's  cheeks  and 
takes  the  blood  out  of  one's  veins.  It  was  then 
that  the  horror  had  grown  larger  and  larger  each 
day  in  Mignon's  big  baby-blue  eyes,  until  she  came 
out  with  childish  frankness  and  said  that  it  was 
terribly  embarrassing  to  have  one's  friends  know 
that  one  was  engaged  to  a  consumptive. 

Philip  laughed  as  he  thought  of  that.  The 
laugh  came  so  suddenly  and  so  explosively  that 
Bram  could  have  heard  it  a  hundred  yards  away, 
even  with  the  wind  blowing  as  it  was.  A  con 
sumptive  I  Philip  doubled  up  his  arm  until  the 
hard  muscles  in  it  snapped.  He  drew  in  a  deep 
lungful  of  air,  and  forced  it  out  again  with  a 
sound  like  steam  escaping  from  a  valve.  The 
north  had  done  that  for  him;  the  north  with  its 
wonderful  forests,  its  vast  skies,  its  rivers,  and  its 
lakes,  and  its  deep  snows — the  north  that  makes 
a  man  out  of  the  husk  of  a  man  if  given  half  a 
chance.  He  loved  it.  And  because  he  loved  it> 
and  the  adventure  of  it,  he  had  joined  the  Police 
two  years  ago.  Some  day  he  would  go  back,  just 
for  the  fun  of  it;  meet  his  old  friends  in  his  old 
clubs,  and  shock  baby-eyed  Mignon  to  death  with 
his  good  health. 

He  dropped  these  meditations  as  he  thought  of 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  23 

the  mysterious  man  he  was  following.  During  the 
course  of  his  two  years  in  the  Service  he  had 
picked  up  a  great  many  odds  and  ends  in  the  his 
tory  of  Bram's  life,  and  in  the  lives  of  the  John 
sons  who  had  preceded  him.  He  had  never  told 
any  one  how  deeply  interested  he  was.  He  had, 
at  times,  made  efforts  to  discuss  the  quality  of 
Bram's  intelligence,  but  always  he  had  failed  to 
make  others  see  and  understand  his  point  of  view. 
By  the  Indians  and  halfbreeds  of  the  country  in 
which  he  had  lived,  Bram  was  regarded  as  a 
monster  of  the  first  order  possessed  of  the  con 
juring  powers  of  the  devil  himself.  By  the  police 
he  was  earnestly  desired  as  the  most  dangerous 
murderer  at  large  in  all  the  north,  and  the  lucky 
man  who  captured  him,  dead  or  alive,  was  sure 
of  a  sergeantcy.  Ambition  and  hope  had  run  high 
in  many  valiant  hearts  until  it  was  generally  con 
ceded  that  Bram  was  dead. 

Philip  was  not  thinking  of  the  sergeantcy  as  he 
kept  steadily  along  the  edge  of  the  Barren.  His 
service  would  shortly  be  up,  and  he  had  other 
plans  for  the  future.  From  the  moment  his 
fingers  had  touched  the  golden  strand  of  hair  he 
had  been  filled  with  a  new  and  curious  emotion. 
It  possessed  him  even  more  strongly  to-day  than 
it  had  last  night.  He  had  not  given  voice  to  that 


24  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

emotion,  or  to  the  thoughts  it  had  roused,  even  to 
Pierre.  Perhaps  he  was  ridiculous.  But  he  pos- 
sessed  imagination,  and  along  with  that  a  great 
deal  of  sympathy  for  animals — and  some  human 
beings.  He  had,  for  the  time,  ceased  to  be  the 
cool  and  calculating  man-hunter  intent  on  the 
possession  of  another's  life.  He  knew  that  his 
duty  was  to  get  Bram  and  take  him  back  to  head 
quarters,  and  he  also  knew  that  he  would  perform 
his  duty  when  the  opportunity  came — unless  he 
had  guessed  correctly  the  significance  of  the  golden 
snare. 

And  had  he  guessed  correctly?  There  was  a 
tremendous  doubt  in  his  mind,  and  yet  he  was 
strangely  thrilled.  He  tried  to  argue  that  there 
were  many  ways  in  which  Bram  might  have  se 
cured  the  golden  hairs  that  had  gone  into  the  mak 
ing  of  his  snare ;  and  that  the  snare  itself  might 
long  have  been  carried  as  a  charm  against  the  evils 
of  disease  and  the  devil  by  the  strange  creature 
whose  mind  and  life  were  undoubtedly  directed  to 
a  large  extent  by  superstition.  In  that  event  it 
was  quite  logical  that  Bram  had  come  into  pos 
session  of  his  golden  talisman  years  ago. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Philip  could  not  believe  that 
this  was  so.  At  noon,  when  he  built  a  small  fire 
to  make  tea  and  warm  his  bannock,  he  took  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  25 

golden  tress  from  his  wallet  and  examined  it  even 
more  closely  than  last  night.  It  might  have  come 
from  a  woman's  head  only  yesterday,  so  bright 
and  shimmery  was  it  in  the  pale  light  of  the  mid 
day  sun.  He  was  amazed  at  the  length  and  fine 
ness  of  it,  and  the  splendid  texture  of  each  hair. 
Possibly  there  were  half  a  hundred  hairs,  each  of 
an  equal  and  unbroken  length. 

He  ate  his  dinner,  and  went  on.  Three  days  of 
storm  had  covered  utterly  every  trace  of  the  trail 
made  by  Bram  and  his  wolves.  He  was  convinced, 
however,  that  Bram  would  travel  in  the  scrub 
timber  close  to  the  Barren.  He  had  already  made 
up  his  mind  that  this  Barren — the  Great  Barren 
of  the  unmapped  north — was  the  great  snow  sea 
in  which  Bram  had  so  long  found  safety  from  the 
law.  Beaching  five  hundred  miles  east  and  west, 
and  almost  from  the  Sixtieth  degree  to  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  its  unpeopled  and  treeless  wastes  formed 
a  tramping  ground  for  him  as  safe  as  the  broad 
Pacific  to  the  pirates  of  old.  He  could  not  repress 
a  shivering  exclamation  as  his  mind  dwelt  on  this 
world  of  Bram's.  It  was  worse  than  the  edge  of 
the  Arctic,  where  one  might  at  least  have  the 
Eskimo  for  company. 

He  realized  the  difficulty  of  his  own  quest.  His 
one  chance  lay  in  fair  weather,  and  the  discovery 


26  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

of  an  old  trail  made  by  Bram  and  Ms  pack.  An 
old  trail  would  lead  to  fresher  ones.  Also  lie  was 
determined  to  stick  to  the  edge  of  the  scrub  timber, 
for  if  the  Barren  was  Bram's  retreat  he  would 
sooner  or  later  strike  a  trail — unless  Bram  had 
gone  straight  out  into  the  vast  white  plain  shortly 
after  he  had  made  his  camp  in  the  forest  near 
Pierre  Breault's  cabin.  In  that  event  it  might 
be  weeks  before  Bram  would  return  to  the  scrub 
timber  again. 

That  night  the  last  of  the  blizzard  that  had 
raged  for  days  exhausted  itself.  For  a  week  clear 
weather  followed.  It  was  intensely  cold,  but  no 
snow  fell.  In  that  week  Philip  traveled  a  hundred 
and  twenty  miles  westward. 

It  was  on  the  eighth  night,  as  he  sat  near  his 
fire  in  a  thick  clump  of  dwarf  spruce,  that  the 
thing  happened  which  Pierre  Breault,  with  a 
fatalism  born  of  superstition,  knew  would  come 
to  pass.  And  it  is  curious  that  on  this  night,  and 
in  the  very  hour  of  the  strange  happening,  Philip 
had  with  infinite  care  and  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
rewoven  the  fifty  hairs  back  into  the  form  of  the 
golden  snare. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  night  was  so  bright  that  ihe  spruce  trees 
cast  vivid  shadows  on  the  snow.  Overhead  there 
were  a  billion  stars  in  a  sky  as  clear  as  an  open 
sea,  and  the  Great  Dipper  shone  like  a  constella 
tion  of  tiny  suns.  The  world  did  not  need  a 
moon.  At  a  distance  of  three  hundred  yards 
Philip  could  have  seen  a  caribou  if  it  had  passed. 
He  sat  close  to  his  fire,  with  the  heat  of  it  reflected 
from  the  blackened  face  of  a  huge  rock,  finishing 
the  snare  which  had  taken  him  an  hour  to  weave. 
For  a  long  time  he  had  been  conscious  of  the 
curious,  hissing  monotone  of  the  Aurora,  the 
"  music  of  the  skies, "  reaching  out  through  the 
space  of  the  earth  with  a  purring  sound  that  was 
at  times  like  the  purr  of  a  cat  and  at  others  like 
the  faint  hum  of  a  bee.  Absorbed  in  his  work  he 
did  not,  for  a  time,  hear  the  other  sound.  Not  un 
til  he  had  finished,  and  was  placing  the  golden 
snare  in  his  wallet,  did  the  one  sound  individualize 
and  separate  itself  from  the  other. 

He  straightened  himself  suddenly,  and  listened. 

27 


28  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Then  he  jumped  to  his  feet  and  ran  through  fifty 
feet  of  low  scrub  to  the  edge  of  the  white  plain. 

It  was  coming  from  off  there,  a  great  distance 
away.  Perhaps  a  mile.  It  might  be  two.  The 
howling  of  wolves ! 

It  was  not  a  new  or  unusual  sound  to  him.  He 
had  listened  to  it  many  times  during  the  last  two 
years.  But  never  had  it  thrilled  him  as  it  did 
now,  and  he  felt  the  blood  leap  in  sudden  swiftness 
through  his  body  as  the  sound  bore  straight  in  his 
direction.  In  a  flash  he  remembered  all  that 
Pierre  Breault  had  said.  Bram  and  his  pack 
hunted  like  that.  And  it  was  Bram  who  was  com 
ing.  He  knew  it. 

He  ran  back  to  his  tent  and  in  what  remained  of 
the  heat  of  the  fire  he  warmed  for  a  few  moments 
the  breech  of  his  rifle.  Then  he  smothered  the  fire 
by  kicking  snow  over  it.  Eeturning  to  the  edge 
of  the  plain,  he  posted  himself  near  the  largest 
spruce  he  could  find,  up  which  it  would  be  possible 
for  him  to  climb  a  dozen  feet  or  so  if  necessity 
drove  him  to  it.  And  this  necessity  bore  down 
upon  him  like  the  wind.  The  pack,  whether 
guided  by  man  or  beast,  was  driving  straight  at 
him,  and  it  was  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away 
when  Philip  drew  himself  up  in  the  spruce.  His 
breath  came  quick,  and  his  heart  was  thumping 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  29 

like  a  drum,  for  as  lie  climbed  up  the  slender 
refuge  that  was  scarcely  larger  in  diameter  than 
his  arm  he  remembered  the  time  when  he  had  hung 
up  a  thousand  pounds  of  moosemeat  on  cedars  as 
thick  as  his  leg,  and  the  wolves  had  come  the  next 
night  and  gnawed  them  through  as  if  they  had 
been  paper.  From  his  unsteady  perch  ten  feet 
off  the  ground  he  stared  out  into  the  starlit 
Barren. 

Then  came  the  other  sound.  It  was  the  swift 
chug,  chug,  chug  of  galloping  feet — of  hoofs  break 
ing  through  the  crust  of  the  snow.  A  shape 
loomed  up,  and  Philip  knew  it  was  a  caribou  run 
ning  for  its  life.  He  drew  an  easier  breath  as  he 
saw  that  the  animal  was  fleeing  parallel  with  the 
projecting  finger  of  scrub  in  which  he  had  made 
his  camp,  and  that  it  would  strike  the  timber  a 
good  mile  below  him.  And  now,  with  a  still 
deeper  thrill,  he  noted  the  silence  of  the  pursuing 
wolves.  It  meant  but  one  thing.  They  were  so 
close  on  the  heels  of  their  prey  that  they  no  longer 
made  a  sound.  Scarcely  had  the  caribou  disap 
peared  when  Philip  saw  the  first  of  them — gray, 
swiftly  moving  shapes,  spread  out  fan-like  as  they 
closed  in  on  two  sides  for  attack,  so  close  that  he 
could  hear  the  patter  of  their  feet  and  the  blood 
curdling  whines  that  came  from  between  their 


30  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

gaping  jaws.  There  were  at  least  twenty  of  them, 
perhaps  thirty,  and  they  were  gone  with  the  swift 
ness  of  shadows  driven  by  a  gale. 

From  his  uncomfortable  position  Philip  lowered 
himself  to  the  snow  again.  With  its  three  or  four 
hundred  yard  lead  he  figured  that  the  caribou 
would  almost  reach  the  timber  a  mile  away  before 
the  end  came.  Concealed  in  the  shadow  of  the 
spruce,  he  waited.  He  made  no  effort  to  analyze 
the  confidence  with  which  he  watched  for  Bram. 
When  he  at  last  heard  the  curious  zip — zip — zip 
of  snowshoes  approaching  his  blood  ran  no  faster 
than  it  had  in  the  preceding  minutes  of  his  expec 
tation,  so  sure  had  he  been  that  the  man  he  was 
after  would  soon  loom  up  out  of  the  starlight.  In 
the  brief  interval  after  thejp^ssingjof  the  wolves 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  what  he  would  do.  Fate 
had  played  a  trump  card  into  his  hand.  From  the 
first  he  had  figured  that  strategy  would  have  much 
to  do  in  the  taking  of  Bram,  who  would  be  prac 
tically  unassailable  when  surrounded  by  the  sav 
age  horde  which,  at  a  word  from  him,  had  proved 
themselves  ready  to  tear  his  enemies  into  pieces. 
Now,  with  the  wolves  gorging  themselves,  his  plan 
was  to  cut  Bram  off  and  make  him  a  prisoner. 

From  his  knees  he  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  still 
hidden  in  the  shadow  of  the  spruce.  His  rifle  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  31 

discarded.  In  his  unmittened  hand  he  held  his 
revolver.  With  staring  eyes  he  looked  for  Bram 
out  where  the  wolves  had  passed.  And  then,  all 
at  once,  came  the  shock.  It  was  tremendous. 
The  trickery  of  sound  on  the  Barren  had  played 
an  unexpected  prank  with  his  senses,  and  while 
he  strained  his  eyes  to  pierce  the  hazy  starlight 
of  the  plain  far  out,  Bram  himself  loomed  up  sud 
denly  along  the  edge  of  the  bush  not  twenty  paces 
away. 

Philip  choked  back  the  cry  on  his  lips,  and  in 
that  moment  Bram  stopped  short,  standing  full 
in  the  starlight,  his  great  lungs  taking  in  and  ex 
pelling  air  with  a  gasping  sound  as  he  listened  for 
his  wolves.  He  was  a  giant  of  a  man.  A  mon 
ster,  Philip  thought.  It  is  probable  that  the  elu 
sive  glow  of  the  night  added  to  his  size  as  he  stood 
there.  About  his  shoulders  fell  a  mass  of  un 
kempt  hair  that  looked  like  seaweed.  His  beard 
was  short  and  thick,  and  for  a  flash  Philip  saw 
the  starlight  in  his  eyes — eyes  that  were  shining 
like  the  eyes  of  a  cat.  In  that  same  moment  he 
saw  the  face.  It  was  a  terrible,  questing  face — 
the  face  of  a  creature  that  was  hunting,  and  yet 
hunted;  of  a  creature  half  animal  and  half  man. 
So  long  as  he  lived  he  knew  that  he  would  never 
forget  it;  the  wild  savagery  of  it,  the  questing  fire 


32  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

that  was  in  the  eyes,  the  loneliness  of  it  ther*.  .ji 
the  night,  set  apart  from  all  mankind;  and  with 
the  face  he  would  never  forget  that  other  thing 
that  came  to  him  audibly — the  throbbing,  gasping 
heartbeat  of  the  man's  body. 

In  this  moment  Philip  knew  that  the  time  to  act 
was  at  hand.  His  fingers  gripped  tighter  about 
the  butt  of  his  revolver  as  he  stepped  forward  out 
of  the  shadow. 

Bram  would  have  seen  him  then,  but  in  that 
same  instant  he  had  flung  back  his  head  and  from 
his  throat  there  went  forth  a  cry  such  as  Philip 
had  never  heard  from  man  or  beast  before.  It  be 
gan  deep  in  B  ram's  cavernous  chest,  like  the 
rolling  of  a  great  drum,  and  ended  in  a  wailing 
shriek  that  must  have  carried  for  miles  over  the 
open  plain — the  call  of  the  master  to  his  pack,  of 
the  man-beast  to  his  brothers.  It  may  be  that 
even  before  the  cry  was  finished  some  super-in 
stinct  had  warned  Bram  Johnson  of  a  danger 
which  he  had  not  seen.  The  cry  was  cut  short.  It 
ended  in  a  hissing  gasp,  as  steam  is  cut  off  by  a 
valve.  Before  Philip's  startled  senses  had  ad 
justed  themselves  to  action  Bram  was  off,  and  as 
his  huge  strides  carried  him  swiftly  through  the 
starlight  the  cry  that  had  been  on  his  lips  was  re- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  33 

placed  by  the  strange,  mad  laugh  that  Pierre 
Breault  had  described  with  a  shiver  of  fear. 

Without  moving,  Philip  called  after  him  : 

' '  Bram — Bram  Johnson — stop !  In  the  name  of 
the  King " 

It  was  the  old  formula,  the  words  that  carried 
with  them  the  majesty  and  power  of  Law  through 
out  the  northland.  Bram  heard  them.  But  he 
did  not  stop.  He  sped  on  more  swiftly,  and  again 
Philip  called  his  name. 

' l  Bram — Bram  Johnson ' ' 

The  laugh  came  back  again.  It  was  weird  and 
chuckling,  as  though  Bram  was  laughing  at  him. 

In  the  starlight  Philip  flung  up  his  revolver. 
He  did  not  aim  to  hit.  Twice  he  fired  over  Brain's 
head  and  shoulders,  so  close  that  the  fugitive  must 
have  heard  the  whine  of  the  bullets. 

"Bram — Bram  Johnson !"  he  shouted  a  third 
time. 

His  pistol  arm  relaxed  and  dropped  to  his  side, 
and  he  stood  staring  after  the  great  figure  that 
was  now  no  more  than  a  shadow  in  the  gloom. 
And  then  it  was  swallowed  up  entirely.  Once 
more  he  was  alone  under  the  stars,  encompassed 
by  a  world  of  nothingness.  He  felt,  all  at  once, 
that  he  had  been  a  very  great  fool.  He  had  played 


34  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

his  part  like  a  child;  even  his  voice  had  trembled 
as  he  called  out  Brain's  name.  And  Bram — even 
Bram — had  laughed  at  him. 

Very  soon  he  would  pay  the  price  of  his 
stupidity — of  his  slowness  to  act.  It  was  thought 
of  that  which  quickened  his  pulse  as  he  stared  out 
into  the  white  space  into  which  Bram  had  gone. 
Before  the  night  was  over  Bram  would  return, 
and  with  him  would  come  the  wolves. 

With  a  shudder  Philip  thought  of  Corporal  Lee 
as  he  turned  back  through  the  scrub  to  the  big 
rock  where  he  had  made  his  camp. 

The  picture  that  flashed  into  his  mind  of  the 
fate  of  the  two  men  from  Churchill  added  to  the 
painful  realization  of  his  own  immediate  peril — 
a  danger  brought  upon  himself  by  an  almost  in 
conceivable  stupidity.  Philip  was  no  more  than 
the  average  human  with  good  red  blood  in  his 
veins.  A  certain  amount  of  personal  hazard  held 
a  fascination  for  him,  but  he  had  also  the  very 
great  human  desire  to  hold  a  fairly  decent  hand 
in  any  game  of  chance  he  entered.  It  was  the  op 
pressive  conviction  that  he  had  no  chance  now  that 
stunned  him.  For  a  few  minutes  he  stood  over 
the  spot  where  his  fire  had  been,  a  film  of  steam 
rising  into  his  face,  trying  to  adjust  his  mind  to 
some  sort  of  logical  action.  He  was  not  afraid  of 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  35 

Bram.  He  would  quite  cheerfully  have  gone  out 
and  fought  open-handedly  for  his  man,  even 
though  he  had  seen  that  Bram  was  a  giant.  This 
much  he  told  himself,  as  he  fingered  the  breech  of 
his  rifle,  and  listened. 

But  it  was  not  Bram  who  would  fight.  The 
wolves  would  come.  He  probably  would  not  see 
Bram  again.  He  would  hear  only  his  laugh,  or 
his  great  voice  urging  on  his  pack,  as  Corporal 
Lee  and  the  other  man  had  heard  it. 

That  Bram  would  not  return  for  vengeance 
never  for  a  moment  entered  his  analysis  of  the 
situation.  By  firing  after  his  man  Philip  had  too 
clearly  disclosed  his  identity  and  his  business ;  and 
Brain,  fighting  for  his  own  existence,  would  be 
a  fool  not  to  rid  himself  of  an  immediate  and  dan 
gerous  enemy. 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  re 
turned  from  the  edge  of  the  Barren,  Philip  saw 
the  man  again  as  he  had  seen  him  standing  under 
the  white  glow  of  the  stars.  And  it  struck  him,  all 
at  once,  that  Bram  had  been  unarmed.  Compre 
hension  of  this  fact,  slow  as  it  had  been,  worked 
a  swift  and  sudden  hope  in  him,  and  his  eyes  took 
in  quickly  the  larger  trees  about  him.  From  a 
tree  he  could  fight  the  pack  and  kill  them  one  by 
one.  He  had  a  rifle  and  a  revolver,  and  plenty  of 


36  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

ammunition.     The  advantage  would  lay  all  with' 
him.    But  if  he  was  treed,  and  Bram  happened 

to  have  a  rifle 

He  put  on  the  heavy  coat  he  had  thrown  off  near 
the  fire,  filled  his  pockets  with  loose  ammunition, 
and  hunted  for  the  tree  he  wanted.  He  found  it  a 
hundred  yards  from  his  camp.  It  was  a  gnarled 
and  wind-blown  spruce  six  inches  in  diameter, 
standing  in  an  open.  In  this  open  Philip  knew 
that  he  could  play  havoc  with  the  pack.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  Bram  possessed  a  rifle,  the  gamble 
was  against  him.  Perched  in  the  tree,  silhouetted 
against  the  stars  that  made  the  night  like  day,  he 
would  be  an  easy  victim.  Bram  could  pick  him 
off  without  showing  himself.  But  it  was  his  one 
chance,  and  he  took  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

j 

AN  hour  later  Philip  looked  at  his  watch.  It 
was  close  to  midnight.  In  that  hour  his  nerves 
had  been  keyed  to  a  tension  that  was  almost  at 
the  breaking  point.  Not  a  sound  came  from  off 
the  Barren  or  from  out  of  the  scrub  timber  that 
did  not  hold  a  mental  and  physical  shock  for  him. 
He  believed  that  Bram  and  his  pack  would  come 
up  quietly;  that  he  would  not  hear  the  man's  foot 
steps  or  the  soft  pads  of  his  beasts  until  they  were 
very  near.  Twice  a  great  snow  owl  fluttered  over 
his  head.  A  third  time  it  pounced  down  upon  a 
white  hare  back  in  the  shrub,  and  for  an  instant 
Philip  thought  the  time  had  come.  The  little 
white  foxes,  curious  as  children,  startled  him  most. 
Half  a  dozen  times  they  sent  through  him  the 
sharp  thrill  of  anticipation,  and  twice  they  made 
him  climb  his  tree. 

After  that  hour  the  reaction  came,  and  with  the 
steadying  of  his  nerves  and  the  quieter  pulse  of 
his  blood  Philip  began  to  ask  himself  if  he  was  go 
ing  to  escape  the  ordeal  which  a  short  time  before 

37 


38  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

he  had  accepted  as  a  certainty.  Was  it  possible 
that  his  shots  had  frightened  Bramf  He  could 
not  believe  that.  Cowardice  was  the  last  thing 
he  would  associate  with  the  strange  man  he  had 
seen  in  the  starlight.  Vividly  he  saw  Brain's 
face  again.  And  now,  after  the  almost  unbear 
able  strain  he  had  been  under,  a  mysterious  some 
thing  that  had  been  in  that  face  impinged  itself 
upon  him  above  all  other  things.  Wild  and  savage 
as  the  face  had  been,  he  had  seen  in  it  the  unutter 
able  pathos  of  a  creature  without  hope.  In  that 
moment,  even  as  caution  held  him  listening  for  the 
approach  of  danger,  he  no  longer  felt  the  quicken 
ing  thrill  of  man  on  the  hunt  for  man.  He  could 
not  have  explained  the  change  in  himself — the 
swift  reaction  of  thought  and  emotion  that  filled 
him  with  a  mastering  sympathy  for  Bram  John 
son. 

He  waited,  and  less  and  less  grew  his  fear  of 
the  wolves.  Even  more  clearly  he  saw  Bram  as 
the  time  passed ;  the  hunted  look  in  the  man >s  eyes, 
even  as  he  hunted — the  loneliness  of  him  as  he  had 
stood  listening  for  a  sound  from  the  only  friends 
he  had — the  padded  beasts  ahead.  In  spite  of 
Bram's  shrieking  cry  to  his  pack,  and  the  strange 
ness  of  the  laugh  that  had  floated  back  out  of  the 
night  after  the  shots,  Philip  was  convinced 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  39 

that  he  was  not  mad.  He  had  heard  of  men  whom 
loneliness  had  killed.  He  had  known  one — Pelle- 
tier,  up  at  Point  Fullerton,  on  the  Arctic.  He 
could  repeat  by  heart  the  diary  Pelletier  had  left 
scribbled  on  his  cabin  door.  It  was  worse  than 
madness.  To  Pelletier  death  had  come  at  last  as 
a  friend.  And  Bram  had  been  like  that — dead  to 

human  comradeship  for  years.    And  yet 

Under  it  all,  in  Philip's  mind,  ran  the  thought 
of  the  woman's  hair.  In  Pierre  Breault's  cabin 
he  had  not  given  voice  to  the  suspicion  that  had 
flashed  upon  him.  He  had  kept  it  to  himself,  and 
Pierre,  afraid  to  speak  because  of  the  horror  of  it, 
had  remained  as  silent  as  he.  The  thought  op 
pressed  him  now.  He  knew  that  human  hair  re 
tained  its  life  and  its  gloss  indefinitely,  and  that 
Bram  might  have  had  the  golden  snare  for  years. 
It  was  quite  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  had 
bartered  for  it  with  some  white  man  in  the  years 
before  he  had  become  an  outlaw,  and  that  some 
curious  fancy  or  superstition  had  inspired  him  in 
its  possession.  But  Philip  had  ceased  to  be  influ 
enced  by  reason  alone.  Sharply  opposed  to  reason 
was  that  consciousness  within  him  which  told  him 
that  the  hair  had  been  freshly  cut  from  a  woman's 
head.  He  had  no  argument  with  which  to  drive 
home  the  logic  of  this  belief  even  with  himself, 


40  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

and  yet  he  found  it  impossible  not  to  accept  that 
belief  fully  and  unequivocally.  There  was,  or  had 
been,  a  woman  with  Bram — and  as  he  thought 
of  the  length  and  beauty  and  rare  texture  of  the 
silken  strand  in  his  pocket  he  could  not  repress 
a  shudder  at  the  possibilities  the  situation  in 
volved.  Bram — and  a  woman!  And  a  woman 
with  hair  like  that! 

He  left  his  tree  after  a  time.  For  another 
hour  he  paced  slowly  back  and  forth  at  the  edge 
of  the  Barren,  his  senses  still  keyed  to  the  highest 
point  of  caution.  Then  he  rebuilt  his  fire,  pausing 
every  few  moments  in  the  operation  to  listen  for 
a  suspicious  sound.  It  was  very  cold.  He  no 
ticed,  after  a  little,  that  the  weird  sound  of  the 
lights  over  the  Pole  had  become  only  a  ghostly 
whisper.  The  stars  were  growing  dimmer,  and 
he  watched  them  as  they  seemed  slowly  to  recede 
farther  and  farther  away  from  the  world  of  which 
he  was  a  part.  This  dying  out  of  the  stars  al 
ways  interested  him.  It  was  one  of  the  miracles 
of  the  northern  world  that  lay  just  under  the  long 
Arctic  night  which,  a  few  hundred  miles  beyond 
the  Barren,  was  now  at  its  meridian.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  though  ten  thousand  invisible  hands 
were  sweeping  under  the  heavens  extinguishing 
the  lights  first  in  ones  and  twos  and  then  in  whole 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  41 

constellations.  It  preceded  by  perhaps  half  an 
hour  the  utter  and  chaotic  blackness  that  comes 
before  the  northern  dawn,  and  it  was  this  dark 
ness  that  Philip  dreaded  as  he  waited  beside  his 
fire. 

In  the  impenetrable  gloom  of  that  hour  Bram 
might  come.  It  was  possible  that  he  had  been 
waiting  for  that  darkness.  Philip  looked  at  his 
watch.  It  was  four  o'clock.  Once  more  he  went 
to  his  tree,  and  waited.  In  another  quarter  of 
an  hour  he  could  not  see  the  tree  beside  which  he 
stood.  And  Bram  did  not  come.  With  the  be 
ginning  of  the  gray  dawn  Philip  rebuilt  his  fire 
for  the  third  time  and  prepared  to  cook  his  break 
fast.  He  felt  the  need  of  coffee — strong  coffee 
— and  he  boiled  himself  a  double  ration.  At  seven 
o  'clock  he  was  ready  to  take  up  the  trail. 

He  believed  now  that  some  mysterious  and  po 
tent  force  had  restrained  Bram  Johnson  from 
taking  advantage  of  the  splendid  opportunity  of 
that  night  to  rid  himself  of  an  enemy.  As  he 
made  his  way  through  the  scrub  timber  along  the 
edge  of  the  Barren  it  was  with  the  feeling  that 
he  no  longer  desired  Bram  as  a  prisoner.  A 
thing  more  interesting  than  Bram  had  entered  in 
to  the  adventure.  It  was  the  golden  snare.  Not 
with  Bram  himself,  but  only  at  the  end  of  Bram 'a 


42  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

trail,  would  he  find  what  the  golden  snare  stood 
for.  There  he  would  discover  the  mystery  and 
the  tragedy  of  it,  if  it  meant  anything  at  all.  He 
appreciated  the  extreme  hazard  of  following  Bram 
to  his  long  hidden  retreat.  The  man  he  might 
outwit  in  pursuit  and  overcome  in  fair  fight,  if 
it  came  to  a  fight,  hut  against  the  pack  he  was 
fighting  tremendous  odds. 

What  this  odds  meant  had  not  fully  gripped  him 
until  he  came  cautiously  out  of  the  timber  half 
an  hour  later  and  saw  what  was  left  of  the  carihou 
the  pack  had  killed.  The  bull  had  fallen  within 
fifty  yards  of  the  edge  of  the  scrub..  For  a  radius 
of  twenty  feet  about  it  the  snow  was  beaten  hard 
by  the  footprints  of  beasts,  and  this  arena  was 
stained  red  with  blood  and  scattered  thickly  with 
bits  of  flesh,  broken  bones  and  patches  of  hide. 
Philip  could  see  where  Bram  had  come  in  on  the 
run,  and  where  he  had  kicked  off  his  snowshoes. 
After  that  his  great  moccasin  tracks  mingled  with 
those  of  the  wolves.  Bram  had  evidently  come 
in  time  to  save  the  hind  quarters,  which  had  been 
dragged  to  a  spot  well  out  of  the  red  ring  of 
slaughter.  After  that  the  stars  must  have  looked 
down  upon  an  amazing  scene.  The  hungry  horde 
had  left  scarcely  more  than  the  disemboweled 
offal.  "Where  Bram  had  dragged  his  meat  there 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  43 

was  a  small  circle  worn  by  moccasin  tracks,  and 
here,  too,  were  small  bits  of  flesh  scattered  about 
— the  discarded  remnants  of  Bram's  own  feast. 

The  snow  told  as  clearly  as  a  printed  page  what 
had  happened  after  that.  Its  story  amazed 
Philip.  From  somewhere  Bram  had  produced  a 
sledge,  and  on  this  sledge  he  had  loaded  what 
remained  of  the  caribou  meat.  From  the  marks 
in  the  snow  Philip  saw  that  it  had  been  of  the 
low  ootapanasU  type,  but  that  it  was  longer  and 
broader  than  any  sledge  he  had  ever  seen.  He 
did  not  have  to  guess  at  what  had  happened. 
Everything  was  too  clear  for  that.  Far  back  on 
the  Barren  Bram  had  loosed  his  pack  at  sight  of 
the  caribou,  and  the  pursuit  and  kill  had  followed 
After  that,  when  beasts  and  man  had  gorged  them 
selves,  they  had  returned  through  the  night  for 
the  sledge.  Bram  had  made  a  ^wide  detour  so 
that  he  would  not  again  pass  near  the  finger  of 
scrub  timber  that  concealed  his  enemy,  and  with 
a  curious  quickening  of  the  blood  in  his  veins 
Philip  observed  how  closely  the  pack  hung  at  his 
heels.  The  man  was  master — absolutely.  Later 
they  had  returned  with  the  sledge,  Bram  had 
loaded  his  meat,  and  with  his  pack  had  struck  out 
straight  north  over  the  Barren.  Every  wolf  was 
in  harness,  and  Bram  rode  on  the  sledge. 


44  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Philip  drew  a  deep  breath.  He  was  learning 
new  things  about  Bram  Johnson.  First  he  as 
sured  himself  that  Bram  was  not  afraid,  and  that 
his  disappearance  could  not  be  called  a  flight.  If 
fear  of  capture  had  possessed  him  he  would  not 
have  returned  for  his  meat.  Suddenly  he  recalled 
Pierre  Breault's  story  of  how  Bram  had  carried 
off  the  haunches  of  a  bull  upon  his  shoulders  as 
easily  as  a  child  might  have  carried  a  toy  gun, 
and  he  wondered  why  Bram — instead  of  return 
ing  for  the  meat  this  night — had  not  carried  the 
meat  to  his  sledge.  It  would  have  saved  time  and 
distance.  He  was  beginning  to  give  Bram  credit 
for  a  deeply  mysterious  strategy.  There  was 
some  definite  reason  why  he  had  not  made  an  at 
tack  with  his  wolves  that  night.  There  was  a 
reason  for  the  wide  detour  around  the  point  of 
timber,  and  there  was  a  still  more  inexplicable 
reason  why  he  had  come  back  with  his  sledge  for 
the  meat,  instead  of  carrying  his  meat  to  the 
sledge.  The  caribou  haunch  had  not  weighed 
more  than  sixty  or  seventy  pounds,  which  was 
scarcely  half  a  burden  for  Bram's  powerful 
shoulders. 

In  the  edge  of  the  timber,  where  he  could  se 
cure  wood  for  his  fire,  Philip  began  to  prepare. 
He  cooked  food  for  six  days.  Three  days  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  45 

would  follow  Bram  out  into  that  unmapped  and 
treeless  space — the  Great  Barren.  Beyond  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  go  without  dogs  or 
sledge.  Three  days  out,  and  three  days  back — 
and  even  at  that  he  would  be  playing  a  thrilling 
game  with  death.  In  the  heart  of  the  Barren  a 
menace  greater  than  Bram  and  his  wolves  would 
be  impending.  It  was  storm. 

His  heart  sank  a  little  as  he  set  out  straight 
north,  marking  the  direction  by  the  point  of  his 
compass.  It  was  a  gray  and  sunless  day.  Be 
yond  him  for  a  distance  the  Barren  was  a  white 
plain,  and  this  plain  seemed  always  to  be  merg 
ing  not  very  far  ahead  into  the  purple  haze  of  the 
sky.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  he  was  in  the  center 
of  a  vast  amphitheater  which  was  filled  with  the 
gloom  and  the  stillness  of  death.  Behind  him  the 
thin  fringe  of  the  forest  had  disappeared.  The 
rim  of  the  sky  was  like  a  leaden  thing,  widening 
only  as  he  advanced.  Under  that  sky,  and  im 
prisoned  within  its  circular  walls,  he  knew  that 
men  had  gone  mad;  he  felt  already  the  crushing 
oppression  of  an  appalling  loneliness,  and  for  an 
other  hour  he  fought  an  almost  irresistible  desire 
to  turn  back.  Not  a  rock  or  a  shrub  rose  to  break 
the  monotony,  and  over  his  head — so  low  that  at 
times  it  seeded  as  though  he  might  have  flung  a 


46  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

stone  up  to  them — dark  clouds  rolled  sullenly  from 
out  of  the  north  and  east. 

Half  a  dozen  times  in  those  first  two  hours  he 
looked  at  his  compass.  Not  once  in  that  time  did 
Bram  diverge  from  his  steady  course  into  the 
north.  In  the  gray  gloom,  without  a  stone  or  a 
tree  to  mark  his  way,  his  sense  of  orientation  was 
directing  him  as  infallibly  as  the  sensitive  needle 
of  the  instrument  which  Philip  carried. 

It  was  in  the  third  hour,  seven  or  eight  miles 
from  the  scene  of  slaughter,  that  Philip  came  up 
on  the  first  stopping  place  of  the  sledge.  The 
wolves  had  not  broken  their  traveling  rank,  and 
for  this  reason  he  guessed  that  Bram  had  paused 
only  long  enough  to  put  on  his  snowshoes.  After 
this  Philip  could  measure  quite  accurately  the 
speed  of  the  outlaw  and  his  pack.  Bram's  snow- 
shoe  strides  were  from  twelve  to  sixteen  inches 
longer  than  his  own,  and  there  was  little  doubt 
that  Bram  was  traveling  six  miles  to  his  four. 

It  was  one  o  'clock  when  Philip  stopped  to  eat  his 
dinner.  He  figured  that  he  was  fifteen  miles  from 
the  timber-line.  As  he  ate  there  pressed  upon 
him  more  and  more  persistently  the  feeling  that 
he  had  entered  upon  an  adventure  which  was  lead 
ing  toward  inevitable  disaster  for  him.  For  the 
first  time  the  significance  of  Brain's  supply  of 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  47 

meat,  secured  by  the  outlaw  at  the  last  moment 
before  starting  out  into  the  Barren,  appeared  to 
him  with  a  clearness  that  filled  him  with  uneasi 
ness.  It  meant  that  Bram  required  three  or  four 
days'  rations  for  himself  and  his  pack  in  crossing 
this  sea  of  desolation  that  reached  in  places  to  the 
Arctic.  In  that  time,  if  necessity  was  driving 
him,  he  could  cover  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles, 
while  Philip  could  make  less  than  a  hundred. 

Until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  followed 
steadily  over  Brain's  trail.  He  would  have  pur 
sued  for  another  hour  if  a  huge  and  dome-shaped 
snowdrift  had  not  risen  in  his  path.  In  the  big 
drift  he  decided  to  make  his  house  for  the  night. 
It  was  an  easy  matter — a  trick  learned  of  the 
Eskimo.  With  his  belt-ax  he  broke  through  the 
thick  crust  of  the  drift,  using  care  that  the  "door" 
he  thus  opened  into  it  was  only  large  enough 
for  the  entrance  of  his  body.  Using  a  snowshoe 
as  a  shovel  he  then  began  digging  out  the  soft 
interior  of  the  drift,  burrowing  a  two  foot  tunnel 
until  he  was  well  back  from  the  door,  where  he 
made  himself  a  chamber  large  enough  for  his 
sleeping-bag.  The  task  employed  him  less  than 
an  hour,  and  when  his  bed  was  made,  and  he 
stood  in  front  of  the  door  to  his  igloo,  his  spirits 
began  to  return.  The  assurance  that  he  had  a 


48  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

home  at  his  back  in  which  neither  cold  nor  storm 
could  reach  him  inspirited  him  with  an  optimism 
which  he  had  not  felt  at  any  time  during  the  day. 

From  the  timber  he  had  borne  a  precious 
bundle  of  finely  split  kindlings  of  pitch-filled 
spruce,  and  with  a  handful  of  these  he  built  him 
self  a  tiny  fire  over  which,  on  a  longer  stick 
brought  for  the  purpose,  he  suspended  his  tea 
pail,  packed  with  snow.  The  crackling  of  the 
flames  set  him  whistling.  Darkness  was  falling 
swiftly  about  him.  By  the  time  his  tea  was 
ready  and  he  had  warmed  his  cold  bannock  and 
bacon  the  gloom  was  like  a  black  curtain  that  he 
might  have  slit  with  a  knife.  Not  a  star  was 
visible  in  the  sky.  Twenty  feet  on  either  side  of 
him  he  could  not  see  the  surface  of  the  snow. 
Now  and  then  he  added  a  bit  of  his  kindling  to  the 
dying  embers,  and  in  the  glow  of  the  last  stick  he 
smoked  his  pipe,  and  as  he  smoked  he  drew  from 
his  wallet  the  golden  snare.  Coiled  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand  and  catching  the  red  light  of  the 
pitch-laden  fagot  it  shone  with  the  rich  luster  of 
rare  metal.  Not  until  the  pitch  was  burning  it 
self  out  in  a  final  sputter  of  flame  did  Philip  re 
place  it  in  the  wallet. 

With  the  going  of  the  fire  an  utter  and  chaotic 
blackness  shut  him  in.  Feeling  his  way  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  49 

crawled  through  the  door  of  his  tunnel,  over  the 
inside  of  which  he  had  fastened  as  a  flap  his  silk 
service  tent.  Then  he  stretched  himself  out  in 
his  sleeping-bag.  It  was  surprisingly  comfort 
able.  Since  he  had  left  Breault's  cabin  he  had 
not  enjoyed  such  a  bed.  And  last  night  he  had 
not  slept  at  all.  He  fell  into  deep  sleep.  The 
hours  and  the  night  passed  over  him.  He  did  not 
hear  the  wailing  of  the  wind  that  came  with  the 
dawn.  When  day  followed  dawn  there  were 
other  sounds  which  he  did  not  hear.  His  inner 
consciousness,  the  guardian  of  his  sleep,  cried  for 
him  to  arouse  himself.  It  pounded  like  a  little 
hand  in  his  brain,  and  at  last  he  began  to  move 
restlessly,  and  twist  in  his  sleeping-bag.  His 
eyes  shot  open  suddenly.  The  light  of  day  filled 
his  tunnel.  He  looked  toward  the  "door"  which 
he  had  covered  with  his  tent. 

The  tent  was  gone. 

In  its  place  was  framed  a  huge  shaggy  head, 
and  Philip  found  himself  staring  straight  into 
the  eyes  of  Bram  Johnson. 


CHAPTER  VH 

PHILIP  was  not  unaccustomed  to  the  occasional 
mental  and  physical  shock  which  is  an  inevitable 
accompaniment  of  the  business  of  Law  in  the 
northland.  But  never  had  he  felt  quite  the  same 
stir  in  his  blood  as  now — when  he  found  himself 
looking  down  the  short  tunnel  into  the  face  of  the 
man  he  was  hunting. 

There  come  now  and  then  moments  in  which  a 
curious  understanding  is  impinged  upon  one  with 
out  loss  of  time  in  reason  and  surmise — and  this 
was  one  of  those  moments  for  Philip.  His  first 
thought  as  he  saw  the  great  wild  face  in  the  door 
of  his  tunnel  was  that  Bram  had  been  looking  at 
him  for  some  time — while  he  was  asleep ;  and  that 
if  the  desire  to  kill  had  been  in  the  outlaw's 
breast  he  might  have  achieved  his  purpose  with 
very  little  trouble.  Equally  swift  was  his  ob 
servance  of  the  fact  that  the  tent  with  which  he 
had  covered  the  aperture  was  gone,  and  that  his 
rifle,  with  the  weight  of  which  he  had  held  the 
tent  in  place,  had  disappeared.  Bram  had  se- 

60 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  51 

cured  possession  of  them  before  he  had  roused 
himself. 

It  was  not  the  loss  of  these  things,  or  entirely 
Bram's  sudden  and  unexpected  appearance,  that 
sent  through  him  the  odd  thrill. which  he  experi 
enced.  It  was  Bram's  face,  his  eyes,  the  tense 
and  mysterious  earnestness  that  was  in  his  gaze. 
It  was  not  the  watchfulness  of  a  victor  looking  at 
his  victim.  In  it  there  was  no  sign  of  hatred  or 
of  exultation.  There  was  not  even  unfriend 
liness  there.  Eather  it  was  the  study  of  one  filled 
with  doubt  and  uneasiness,  and  confronted  by  a 
question  which  he  could  not  answer.  There  was 
not  a  line  of  the  face  which  Philip  could  not  see 
now — its  high  cheek-bones,  its  wide  cheeks,  the 
low  forehead,  the  flat  nose,  the  thick  lips.  Only 
the  eyes  kept  it  from  being  a  terrible  face. 
Straight  down  through  the  generations  Bram 
must  have  inherited  those  eyes  from  some  woman 
of  the  past.  They  were  strange  things  in  that 
wild  and  hunted  creature's  face — gray  eyes, 
large,  beautiful.  With  the  face  taken  away  they 
would  have  been  wonderful. 

For  a  full  minute  not  a  sound  passed  between 
the  two  men.  Philip's  hand  had  slipped  to  the 
butt  of  his  revolver,  but  he  had  no  intention  of 
using  it.  Then  he  found  his  voice.  It  seemed 


52  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  he  should 
say  what  he  did. 

"Hello,  Bram!" 

"Boo-joo,  m'sieu!" 

Only  Bram's  thick  lips  moved.  His  voice  was 
low  and  guttural.  Almost  instantly  his  head  dis 
appeared  from  the  opening. 

Philip  dug  himself  quickly  from  his  sleeping- 
bag.  Through  the  aperture  there  came  to  him 
now  another  sound,  the  yearning  whine  of  beasts- 
He  could  not  hear  Bram. 

In  spite  of  the  confidence  which  his  first  look  at 
Bram  had  given  him  he  felt  a  sudden  shiver  run 
up  his  spine  as  he  faced  the  end  of  the  tunnel  on 
his  hands  and  knees,  his  revolver  in  his  hand. 
What  a  rat  in  a  trap  he  would  be  if  Bram  loosed 
his  wolves!  What  sport  for  the  pack — and  per 
haps  for  the  master  himself!  He  could  kill  two 
or  three — and  that  would  be  all.  They  would  be 
in  on  him  like  a  whirlwind,  diving  through  his 
snow  walls  as  easily  as  a  swimmer  might  cut 
through  water.  Had  he  twice  made  a  fool  of 
himself?  Should  he  have  winged  Bram  Johnson, 
three  times  a  murderer,  in  place  of  offering  him 
a  greeting? 

He  began  crawling  toward  the  opening,  and 
again  he  heard  the  snarl  and  whine  of  the  beasts. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  53 

The  sound  seemed  some  distance  away.  He 
reached  the  end  of  the  tunnel  and  peered  out 
through  the  "door"  he  had  made  in  the  crust. 

From  his  position  he  could  see  nothing — noth 
ing  but  the  endless  sweep  of  the  Barren  and  his 
old  trail  leading  up  to  the  snow  dune.  The 
muzzle  of  his  revolver  was  at  the  aperture  when 
he  heard  Bram's  voice. 

"M'sieu — ze  revolv' — ze  knife— or  I  mus'  keel 
you.  Ze  wolve  plent'  hungr' " 

Bram  was  standing  just  outside  of  his  line  of 
vision.  He  had  not  spoken  loudly  or  threaten 
ingly,  but  Philip  felt  in  the  words  a  cold  and  un- 
excited  deadliness  of  purpose  against  which  he 
knew  that  it  would  be  madness  for  him  to  fight. 
Bram  had  more  than  the  bad  man's  ordinary 
drop  on  him.  In  his  wolves  he  possessed  not  only 
an  advantage  but  a  certainty.  If  Philip  had 
doubted  this,  as  he  waited  for  another  moment 
with  the  muzzle  of  his  revolver  close  to  the  open 
ing,  his  uncertainty  was  swept  away  by  the  ap 
pearance  thirty  feet  in  front  of  his  tunnel  of  three 
of  Bram's  wolves.  They  were  giants  of  their 
kind,  and  as  the  three  faced  his  refuge  he  could 
see  the  snarling  gleam  of  their  long  fangs.  A 
fourth  and  a  fifth  joined  them,  and  after  that  they 
came  within  his  vision  in  twos  and  threes  until 


54  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

a  score  of  them  were  huddled  straight  in  front  of 
him.  They  were  restless  and  whining,  and  the 
snap  of  their  jaws  was  like  the  clicking  of  casta 
nets.  He  caught  the  glare  of  twenty  pairs  of 
eyes  fastened  on  his  retreat  and  involuntarily  he 
shrank  back  that  they  might  not  see  him.  He 
knew  that  it  was  Bram  who  was  holding  them 
back,  and  yet  he  had  heard  no  word,  no  command. 
Even  as  he  stared  a  long  snakelike  shadow  un 
curled  itself  swiftly  in  the  air  and  the  twenty 
foot  lash  of  B  ram's  caribou-gut  whip  cracked 
viciously  over  the  heads  of  the  pack.  At  the 
warning  of  the  whip  the  horde  of  beasts  scattered, 
and  Bram's  voice  came  again. 

"M'sieu — ze  revolv' — ze  knife — or  I  loose  ze 
wolve " 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  when 
Philip's  revolver  flew  through  the  opening  and 
dropped  in  the  snow. 

" There  it  is,  old  man,"  announced  Philip. 
"And  here  comes  the  knife." 

His  sheath-knife  followed  the  revolver. 

"Shall  I  throw  out  my  bed?"  he  asked. 

He  was  making  a  tremendous  effort  to  appear 
cheerful.  But  he  could  not  forget  that  last  night 
he  had  shot  at  Bram,  and  that  it  was  not  at  all 
unreasonable  to  suppose  that  Bram  might  knock 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  55 

his  brains  out  when  he  stuck  his  head  out  of  the 
hole.  The  fact  that  Bram  made  no  answer  to  his 
question  about  the  bed  did  not  add  to  his  assur 
ance.  He  repeated  the  question,  louder  than  be 
fore,  and  still  there  was  no  answer.  In  the  face 
of  his  perplexity  he  could  not  repress  a  grim 
chuckle  as  he  rolled  up  his  blankets.  What  a  re 
port  he  would  have  for  the  Department — if  he 
lived  to  make  it !  On  paper  there  would  be  a  good 
deal  of  comedy  about  it — this  burrowing  oneself 
up  like  a  hibernating  woodchuck,  and  then  being 
invited  out  to  breakfast  by  a  man  with  a  club  and 
a  pack  of  brutes  with  fangs  that  had  gleamed  at 
him  like  ivory  stilettos.  He  had  guessed  at  the 
club,  and  a  moment  later  as  he  thrust  his  sleep 
ing-bag  out  through  the  opening  he  saw  that  it 
was  quite  obviously  a  correct  one.  Bram  was 
possessing  himself  of  the  revolver  and  the  knife. 
In  the  same  hand  he  held  his  whip  and  a  club. 

Seizing  the  opportunity,  Philip  followed  his  bed 
quickly,  and  when  Bram  faced  him  he  was  stand 
ing  on  his  feet  outside  the  drift. 

"Morning,  Bram!" 

His  greeting  was  drowned  in  a  chorus  of  fierce 
snarls  that  made  his  blood  curdle  even  as  he  tried 
to  hide  from  Bram  any  visible  betrayal  of  the 
fact  that  every  nerve  up  and  down  his  spine  was 


56  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

pricking  him  like  a  pin.  From  Bram's  throat 
there  shot  forth  at  the  pack  a  sudden  sharp  clack 
of  Eskimo,  and  with  it  the  long  whip  snapped  in 
their  faces  again. 

Then  he  looked  steadily  at  his  prisoner.  For 
the  first  time  Philip  saw  the  look  which  he 
dreaded  darkening  his  face.  A  greenish  fire 
burned  in  the  strange  eyes.  The  thick  lips  were 
set  tightly,  the  flat  nose  seemed  flatter,  and  with 
a  shiver  Philip  noticed  Bram's  huge,  naked  hand 
gripping  his  club  until  the  cords  stood  out  like 
babiche  thongs  under  the  skin.  In  that  moment 
he  was  ready  to  kill.  A  wrong  word,  a  wrong 
act,  and  Philip  knew  that  the  end  was  inevitable. 

In  the  same  thick  guttural  voice  which  he  used 
in  his  halfbreed  patois  he  demanded, 

*  '  Why  you  shoot — las '  night  1 ' ' 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  talk  with  you,  Bram," 
replied  Philip  calmly.  "I  didn't  shoot  to  hit  you. 
I  fired  over  your  head." 

"Yon  want — talk,"  said  Bram,  speaking  as  if 
each  word  cost  him  a  certain  amount  of  effort. 
"Why— talk!" 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  why  it  was  that  you 
killed  a  man  down  in  the  God's  Lake  country." 

The  words  were  out  before  Philip  could  stop 
them.  A  growl  rose  in  Bram's  chest.  It  was 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  5? 

like  the  growl  of  a  beast.  The  greenish  fire  in 
his  eyes  grew  brighter. 

"Ze  poleece,"  he  said.  "Ka,  ze  poleece — like 
kam  from  Churchill  an*  ze  wolve  keel!" 

Philip 's  hand  was  fumbling  in  his  pocket.  The 
wolves  were  behind  him  and  he  dared  not  turn 
to  look.  It  was  their  ominous  silence  that  filled 
him  with  dread.  They  were  waiting — watching 
— their  animal  instinct  telling  them  that  the  com 
mand  for  which  they  yearned  was  already  trem 
bling  on  the  thick  lips  of  their  master.  The  re 
volver  and  the  knife  dropped  from  Brain's  hand. 
He  held  only  the  whip  and  the  club. 

Philip  drew  forth  the  wallet. 

"You  lost  something — when  you  camped  that 
night  near  Pierre  Breault's  cabin, "  he  said,  and 
his  own  voice  seemed  strange  and  thick  to  him. 
"I've  followed  you — to  give  it  back.  I  could 
have  killed  you  if  I  had  wanted  to — when  I  fired 
over  your  head.  But  I  wanted  to  stop  you.  I 
wanted  to  give  you — this." 

He  held  out  to  Bram  the  golden  snare. 


CHAPTER 


IT  must  have  been  fully  half  a  minute  that 
Bram  stood  like  a  living  creature  turned  suddenly 
into  dead  stone.  His  eyes  had  left  Philip's  face 
and  were  fixed  on  the  woven  tress  of  shining  hair. 
For  the  first  time  his  thick  lips  had  fallen  agape. 
He  did  not  seem  to  breathe.  At  the  end  of  the 
thirty  seconds  his  hand  unclenched  from  about 
the  whip  and  the  club  and  they  fell  into  the  snow. 
Slowly,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  snare  as  if  it 
held  for  him  an  overpowering  fascination,  he  ad 
vanced  a  step,  and  then  another,  until  he  reached 
out  and  took  from  Philip  the  thing  which  he  held. 
He  uttered  no  word.  But  from  his  eyes  there 
disappeared  the  greenish  fire.  The  lines  in  his 
heavy  face  softened  and  his  thick  lips  lost  some 
of  their  cruelty  as  he  held  up  the  snare  before 
his  eyes  so  that  the  light  played  on  its  sheen  of 
gold.  It  was  then  that  Philip  saw  that  which 
must  have  meant  a  smile  in  B  ram's  face. 

Still  this  strange  man  made  no  spoken  sound 
as  he  coiled  the  silken  thread  around  one  of  his 
great  fingers  and  then  placed  it  somewhere  inside 

58 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  59 

his  coat.  He  seemed,  all  at  once,  utterly  oblivi 
ous  of  Philip's  presence.  He  picked  up  the  re 
volver,  gazed  heavily  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  with 
a  grunt  which  must  have  reflected  his  mental  de 
cision  hurled  it  far  out  over  the  plain.  Instantly 
the  wolves  were  after  it  in  a  mad  rush.  The 
knife  followed  the  revolver;  and  after  that,  as 
coolly  as  though  breaking  firewood,  the  giant 
went  to  Philip's  rifle,  braced  it  across  his  knee, 
and  with  a  single  effort  snapped  the  stock  off 
close  to  the  barrel. 

"The  devil !"  growled  Philip. 

He  felt  a  surge  of  anger  rise  in  him,  and  for  an 
instant  the  inclination  to  fling  himself  at  Bram 
in  the  defense  of  his  property.  If  he  had  been 
helpless  a  few  minutes  before,  he  was  utterly  so 
now.  In  the  same  breath  it  flashed  upon  him  that 
Bram's  activity  in  the  destruction  of  his  weapons 
meant  that  his  life  was  spared,  at  least  for  the 
present.  Otherwise  Bram  would  not  be  taking 
these  precautions. 

The  futility  of  speech  kept  his  own  lips  closed. 
At  last  Bram  looked  at  him,  and  pointed  to  his 
snowshoes  where  he  had  placed  them  last  night 
against  the  snow  dune.  His  invitation  for  Philip 
to  prepare  himself  for  travel  was  accompanied 
by  nothing  more  than  a  grunt. 


60  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

The  wolves  were  returning,  sneaking  in  watch 
fully  and  alert.  Bram  greeted  them  with  the 
snap  of  his  whip,  and  when  Philip  was  ready  mo 
tioned  him  to  lead  the  way  into  the  north.  Half 
a  dozen  paces  behind  Philip  followed  Bram,  and 
twice  that  distance  behind  the  outlaw  came  the 
pack.  Now  that  his  senses  were  readjusting 
themselves  and  his  pulse  beating  more  evenly 
Philip  began  to  take  stock  of  the  situation.  It 
was,  first  of  all,  quite  evident  that  Bram  had  not 
accepted  him  as  a  traveling  companion,  but  as  a 
prisoner;  and  he  was  equally  convinced  that  the 
golden  snare  had  at  the  last  moment  served  in 
some  mysterious  way  to  save  his  life. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  saw  how  Bram  had 
out-generaled  him.  Two  miles  beyond  the  big 
drift  they  came  upon  the  outlaw's  huge  sledge, 
from  which  Bram  and  his  wolves  had  made  a  wide 
circle  in  order  to  stalk  him  from  behind.  The 
fact  puzzled  him.  Evidently  Bram  had  expected 
his  unknown  enemy  to  pursue  him,  and  had  em 
ployed  his  strategy  accordingly.  Why,  then,  had 
he  not  attacked  him  the  night  of  the  caribou  kill! 

He  watched  Bram  as  he  got  the  pack  into  har 
ness.  The  wolves  obeyed  him  like  dogs.  He 
could  perceive  among  them  a  strange  comrade 
ship,  even  an  affection,  for  the  man-monster  who 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  61 

was  their  master.  Bram  spoke  to  them  entirely 
in  Eskimo — and  the  sound  of  it  was  like  the  rapid 
clack'dacJc-clacJc  of  dry  bones  striking  together. 
It  was  weirdly  different  from  the  thick  and  gut 
tural  tones  Bram  used  in  speaking  Chippewyan 
and  the  halfbreed  patois. 

Again  Philip  made  an  effort  to  induce  Bram  to 
break  his  oppressive  silence.  With  a  suggestive 
gesture  and  a  hunch  of  his  shoulders  he  nodded 
toward  the  pack,  just  as  they  were  about  to  start. 

' '  If  you  thought  I  tried  to  kill  you  night  before 
last  why  didn't  you  set  your  wolves  after  me, 
Bram — as  you  did  those  other  two  over  on  the 
Barren  north  of  Kasba  Lake  ?  Why  did  you  wait 
until  this  morning?  And  where — where  in  God's 
name  are  we  going?'' 

Bram  stretched  out  an  arm. 

"There!" 

It  was  the  one  question  he  answered,  and  he 
pointed  straight  as  the  needle  of  a  compass  into 
the  north.  And  then,  as  if  his  crude  sense  of 
humor  had  been  touched  by  the  other  thing  Philip 
had  asked,  he  burst  into  a  laugh.  It  made  one 
shudder  to  see  laughter  in  a  face  like  Bram's.  It 
transformed  his  countenance  from  mere  ugliness 
into  one  of  the  leering  gargoyles  carven  under  the 
cornices  of  ancient  buildings.  It  was  this  laugh, 


62  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

heard  almost  at  Bram's  elbow,  that  made  Philip 
suddenly  grip  hard  at  a  new  understanding — the 
laugh  and  the  look  in  Bram's  eyes.  It  set  him 
throbbing,  and  filled  him  all  at  once  with  the  de 
sire  to  seize  his  companion  by  his  great  shoulders 
and  shake  speech  from  his  thick  lips.  In  that 
moment,  even  before  the  laughter  had  gone  from 
B  ram's  face,  he  thought  again  of  Pelletier. 
Pelletier  must  have  been  like  this — in  those 
terrible  days  when  he  scribbled  the  random 
thoughts  of  a  half -mad  man  on  his  cabin  door. 

Bram  was  not  yet  mad.  And  yet  he  was  fight 
ing  the  thing  that  had  killed  Pelletier.  Loneli 
ness.  The  fate  forced  upon  him  by  the  law  be 
cause  he  had  killed  a  man. 

His  face  was  again  heavy  and  unemotional 
when  with  a  gesture  he  made  Philip  understand 
that  he  was  to  ride  on  the  sledge.  Bram  himself 
went  to  the  head  of  the  pack.  At  the  sharp  clack 
of  his  Eskimo  the  wolves  strained  in  their  traces. 
Another  moment  and  they  were  off,  with  Bram  in 
the  lead. 

Philip  was  amazed  at  the  pace  set  by  the  mas 
ter  of  the  pack.  With  head  and  shoulders 
hunched  low  he  set  off  in  huge  swinging  strides 
that  kept  the  team  on  a  steady  trot  behind  him. 
They  must  have  traveled  eight  miles  an  hour. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  63 

For  a  few  minutes  Philip  could  not  keep  his  eyes 
from  Bram  and  the  gray  backs  of  the  wolves. 
They  fascinated  him,  and  at  the  same  time  the 
sight  of  them — straining  on  ahead  of  him  into 
a  voiceless  and  empty  world — filled  him  with  a 
strange  and  overwhelming  compassion.  He  saw 
in  them  the  brotherhood  of  man  and  beast.  It 
was  splendid.  It  was  epic.  And  to  this  the  Law 
had  driven  them ! 

His  eyes  began  to  take  in  the  sledge  then.  On 
it  was  a  roll  of  bear  skins — Bram's  blankets. 
One  was  the  skin  of  a  polar  bear.  Near  these 
skins  were  the  haunches  of  caribou  meat,  and  so 
close  to  him  that  he  might  have  reached  out  and 
touched  it  was  Bram's  club.  At  the  side  of  the 
club  lay  a  rifle.  It  was  of  the  old  breech-loading, 
single-shot  type,  and  Philip  wondered  why  Bram 
had  destroyed  his  own  modern  weapon  instead  of 
keeping  it  in  place  of  this  ancient  Company  relic. 
It  also  made  him  think  of  night  before  last,  when 
he  had  chosen  for  his  refuge  a  tree  out  in  the  star- 
light. 

The  club,  even  more  than  the  rifle,  bore  marks 
of  use.  It  was  of  birch,  and  three  feet  in  length. 
Where  Bram's  hand  gripped  it  the  wood  was 
worn  as  smooth  and  dark  as  mahogany.  In 
paany  places  the  striking  end  of  the  club  was 


64  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

dented  as  though  it  had  suffered  the  impact  of 
tremendous  blows,  and  it  was  discolored  by  sug 
gestive  stains.  There  was  no  sign  of  cooking 
utensils  and  no  evidence  of  any  other  food  but  the 
caribou  flesh.  On  the  rear  of  the  sledge  was  a 
huge  bundle  of  pitch-soaked  spruce  tied  with 
babiche,  and  out  of  this  stuck  the  crude  handle  of 
an  ax. 

Of  these  things  the  gun  and  the  white  bear  skin 
impressed  Philip  most.  He  had  only  to  lean  for 
ward  a  little  to  reach  the  rifle,  and  the  thought 
that  he  could  scarcely  miss  the  broad  back  of  the 
man  ahead  of  him  struck  him  all  at  once  with  a 
sort  of  mental  shock.  Bram  had  evidently  for 
gotten  the  weapon,  or  was  utterly  confident  in  the 
protection  of  the  pack.  Or — had  he  faith  in  his 
prisoner?  It  was  this  last  question  that  Philip 
would  liked  to  have  answered  in  the  affirmative. 
He  had  no  desire  to  harm  Bram.  He  had  even  a 
less  desire  to  escape  him.  He  had  forgotten,  so 
far  as  his  personal  intentions  were  concerned,  that 
he  was  an  agent  of  the  Law — under  oath  to  bring 
in  to  Divisional  Headquarters  B  ram's  body  dead 
or  alive.  Since  night  before  last  Bram  had 
ceased  to  be  a  criminal  for  him.  He  was  like 
Pelletier,  and  through  him  he  was  entering  upon 
a  strange  adventure  which  held  for  him  already 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  6S 

the  thrill  and  suspense  of  an  anticipation  which 
he  had  never  experienced  in  the  game  of  man- 
hunting. 

Had  the  golden  snare  been  taken  from  the 
equation — had  he  not  felt  the  thrill  of  it  in  his 
fingers  and  looked  upon  the  warm  fires  of  it  as  it 
lay  unbound  on  Pierre  Breault's  table,  his  pres 
ent  relation  with  Bram  Johnson  he  would  have 
considered  as  a  purely  physical  condition,  and  he 
might  then  have  accepted  the  presence  of  the 
rifle  there  within  his  reach  as  a  direct  invitation 
from  Providence. 

As  it  was,  he  knew  that  the  master  of  the 
wolves  was  speeding  swiftly  to  the  source  of  the 
golden  snare.  From  the  moment  he  had  seen  the 
strange  transformation  it  had  worked  in  Bram 
that  belief  within  him  had  become  positive.  And 
now,  as  his  eyes  turned  from  the  inspection  of 
the  sledge  to  Bram  and  his  wolves,  he  wondered 
where  the  trail  was  taking  him.  Was  it  possible 
that  Bram  was  striking  straight  north  for  Coro 
nation  Gulf  and  the  Eskimo?  He  had  noted  that 
the  polar  bear  skin  was  only  slightly  worn — that 
it  had  not  long  been  taken  from  the  back  of  the 
animal  that  had  worn  it.  He  recalled  what  he 
could  remember  of  his  geography.  Their  course, 
if  continued  in  the  direction  Bram  was  now  head- 


66  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

ing,  would  take  them  east  of  the  Great  Slave  and 
the  Great  Bear,  and  they  would  hit  the  Arctic 
somewhere  between  Melville  Sound  and  the  Cop 
permine  River.  It  was  a  good  five  hundred  miles 
to  the  Eskimo  settlements  there.  Bram  and  his 
wolves  could  make  it  in  ten  days,  possibly  in 
eight. 

If  his  guess  was  correct,  and  Coronation  Gulf 
was  Bram's  goal,  he  had  found  at  least  one  pos 
sible  explanation  for  the  tress  of  golden  hair. 

The  girl  or  woman  to  whom  it  had  belonged 
had  come  into  the  north  aboard  a  whaling  ship. 
Probably  she  was  the  daughter  or  the  wife  of  the 
master.  The  ship  had  been  lost  in  the  ice — she 
had  been  saved  by  the  Eskimo — and  she  was 
among  them  now,  with  other  white  men.  Philip 
pictured  it  all  vividly.  It  was  unpleasant — hor 
rible.  The  theory  of  other  white  men  being  with 
her  he  was  conscious  of  forcing  upon  himself  to 
offset  the  more  reasonable  supposition  that,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  golden  snare,  she  belonged  to 
Bram.  He  tried  to  free  himself  of  that  thought, 
but  it  clung  to  him  with  a  tenaciousness  that  op 
pressed  him  with  a  grim  and  ugly  foreboding. 
What  a  monstrous  fate  for  a  woman!  He 
shivered.  For  a  few  moments  every  instinct  in 
his  body  fought  to  assure  him  that  such  a  thing 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  67 

could  not  happen.  And  yet  he  knew  that  it  could 
happen.  A  woman  up  there — with  Bram!  A 
woman  with  hair  like  spun  gold — and  that  giant 
half -mad  enormity  of  a  man! 

He  clenched  his  hands  at  the  picture  his  ex 
cited  brain  was  painting  for  him.  He  wanted  to 
jump  from  the  sledge,  overtake  Bram,  and  de 
mand  the  truth  from  him.  He  was  calm  enough 
to  realize  the  absurdity  of  such  action.  Upon  his 
own  strategy  depended  now  whatever  answer  he 
might  make  to  the  message  chance  had  sent  to 
him  through  the  golden  snare. 

For  an  hour  he  marked  Bram's  course  by  his 
compass.  It  was  straight  north.  Then  Bram 
changed  the  manner  of  his  progress  by  riding  in 
a  standing  position  behind  Philip.  With  his 
long  whip  he  urged  on  the  pack  until  they  were 
galloping  over  the  frozen  level  of  the  plain  at  a 
speed  that  must  have  exceeded  ten  miles  an  hour. 
A  dozen  times  Philip  made  efforts  at  conversa 
tion.  Not  a  word  did  he  get  from  Bram  in  reply. 
Again  and  again  the  outlaw  shouted  to  his  wolves 
in  Eskimo ;  he  cracked  his  whip,  he  flung  his  great 
arms  over  his  head,  and  twice  there  rolled  out  of 
his  chest  deep  peals  of  strange  laughter.  They 
had  been  traveling  more  than  two  hours  when  he 
gave  voice  to  a  sudden  command  that  stopped  the 


68  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

pack,  and  at  a  second  command — a  staccato  of 
shrill  Eskimo  accompanied  by  the  lash  of  his 
whip — the  panting  wolves  sank  upon  their  bellies 
in  the  snow. 

Philip  jumped  from  the  sledge,  and  Bram  went 
immediately  to  the  gun.  He  did  not  touch  it,  but 
dropped  on  his  knees  and  examined  it  closely. 
Then  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  at  Philip,  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  madness  in  his  heavy  face 
as  he  said, 

"You  no  touch  ze  gun,  m'sieu.  Why  you  no 
shoot  when  I  am  there — at  head  of  pack?" 

The  calmness  and  directness  with  which  Bram 
put  the  question  after  his  long  and  unaccountable 
silence  surprised  Philip. 

"For  the  same  reason  you  didn't  kill  me  when 
I  was  asleep,  I  guess,"  he  said.  Suddenly  he 
reached  out  and  caught  Bram's  arm.  "Why  the 
devil  don't  you  come  across?"  he  demanded. 
"Why  don't  you  talk?  I'm  not  after  you — now. 
The  Police  think  you  are  dead,  and  I  don't  believe 
I'd  tip  them  off  even  if  I  had  a  chance.  Why  not 
be  human?  Where  are  we  going?  And  what  in 
thunder " 

He  did  not  finish.  To  his  amazement  Bram 
flung  back  his  head,  opened  his  great  mouth,  and 
laughed.  It  was  not  a  taunting  laugh.  There 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  69 

was  no  humor  in  it.  The  thing  seemed  beyond 
the  control  of  even  Bram  himself,  and  Philip  stood 
like  one  paralyzed  as  his  companion  turned 
quickly  to  the  sledge  and  returned  in  a  moment 
with  the  gun.  Under  Philip's  eyes  he  opened  the 
breech.  The  chamber  was  empty.  Bram  had 
placed  in  his  way  a  temptation — to  test  him ! 

There  was  saneness  in  that  stratagem — and  yet 
as  Philip  looked  at  the  man  now  his  last  doubt 
was  gone.  Bram  Johnson  was  hovering  on  the 
borderland  of  madness. 

Eeplacing  the  gun  on  the  sledge,  Bram  began 
hacking  off  chunks  of  the  caribou  flesh  with  a  big 
knife.  Evidently  he  had  decided  that  it  was  time 
for  himself  and  his  pack  to  breakfast.  To  each 
of  the  wolves  he  gave  a  portion,  after  which  he 
seated  himself  on  the  sledge  and  began  devouring 
a  slice  of  the  raw  meat.  He  had  left  the  blade  of 
his  knife  buried  in  the  carcass — an  invitation  for 
Philip  to  help  himself.  Philip  seated  himself 
near  Bram  and  opened  his  pack.  Purposely  he 
began  placing  his  food  between  them,  so  that  the 
other  might  help  himself  if  he  so  desired. 
Bram's  jaws  ceased  their  crunching.  For  a  mo 
ment  Philip  did  not  look  up.  When  he  did  he 
was  startled.  Bram's  eyes  were  blazing  with  a 
red  fire.  He  was  staring  at  the  cooked  food. 


70  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Never  had  Philip  seen  such  a  look  in  a  human 
face  before. 

He  reached  out  and  seized  a  chunk  of  bannock, 
and  was  about  to  bite  into  it  when  with  the  snarl 
of  a  wild  beast  Bram  dropped  his  meat  and  was 
at  him.  Before  Philip  could  raise  an  arm  in  de 
fense  his  enemy  had  him  by  the  throat.  Back 
over  the  sledge  they  went.  Philip  scarcely  knew 
how  it  happened — but  in  another  moment  the 
giant  had  hurled  him  clean  over  his  head  and 
he  struck  the  frozen  plain  with  a  shock  that 
stunned  him.  When  he  staggered  to  his  feet,  ex 
pecting  a  final  assault  that  would  end  him,  Bram 
was  kneeling  beside  his  pack.  A  mumbling  and 
incoherent  jargon  of  sound  issued  from  his  thick 
lips  as  he  took  stock  of  Philip's  supplies.  Of 
Philip  himself  he  seemed  now  utterly  oblivious. 
Still  mumbling,  he  dragged  the  pile  of  bear  skins 
from  the  sledge,  unrolled  them,  and  revealed  a 
worn  and  tattered  dunnage  bag.  At  first  Philip 
thought  this  bag  was  empty.  Then  Bram  drew 
from  it  a  few  small  packages,  some  of  them  done 
up  in  paper  and  others  in  bark.  Only  one  of 
these  did  Philip  recognize — a  half  pound  package 
of  tea  such  as  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  offers 
in  barter  at  its  stores.  Into  the  dunnage  bag 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  71 

Bram  now  put  Philip's  supplies,  even  to  the  last 
crumb  of  bannock,  and  then  returned  the  articles 
he  had  taken  out,  after  which  he  rolled  the  bag 
up  in  the  bear  skins  and  replaced  the  skins  on  the 
sledge. 

After  that,  still  mumbling,  and  still  paying  no 
attention  to  Philip,  he  reseated  himself  on  the 
edge  of  the  sledge  and  finished  his  breakfast  of 
raw  meat. 

"The  poor  devil !"  mumbled  Philip. 

The  words  were  out  of  his  mouth  before  he 
realized  that  he  had  spoken  them.  He  was  still 
a  little  dazed  by  the  shock  of  Bram's  assault,  but 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  bear  malice  or 
thought  of  vengeance.  In  Bram's  face,  as  he  had 
covetously  piled  up  the  different  articles  of  food, 
he  had  seen  the  terrible  glare  of  starvation — and 
yet  he  had  not  eaten  a  mouthful.  He  had  stored 
the  food  away,  and  Philip  knew  it  was  as  much  as 
his  life  was  worth  to  contend  its  ownership. 

Again  Bram  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  his 
presence,  but  when  Philip  went  to  the  meat  and 
began  carving  himself  off  a  slice  the  wolf -man's 
eyes  shot  in  his  direction  just  once.  Purposely 
he  stood  in  front  of  Bram  as  he  ate  the  raw  steak, 
feigning  a  greater  relish  than  he  actually  enjoyc  d 


72  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

in  consuming  his  uncooked  meal.  Bram  did  not 
wait  for  him  to  finish.  No  sooner  had  he 
swallowed  the  last  of  his  own  breakfast  than  he 
was  on  his  feet  giving  sharp  commands  to  the 
pack.  Instantly  the  wolves  were  alert  in  their 
traces.  Philip  took  his  former  position  on  the 
sledge,  with  Bram  behind  him. 

Never  in  all  the  years  afterward  did  he  forget 
that  day.  As  the  hours  passed  it  seemed  to  him 
that  neither  man  nor  beast  could  very  long  stand 
the  strain  endured  by  Bram  and  his  wolves.  At 
times  Bram  rode  on  the  sledge  for  short  dis 
tances,  but  for  the  most  part  he  ^as  running  be 
hind,  or  at  the  head  of  the  pack.  For  the  pack 
there  was  no  rest.  Hour  after  hour  it  surged 
steadily  onward  over  the  endless  plain,  and  when 
ever  the  wolves  sagged  for  a  moment  in  their 
traces  Brain's  whip  snapped  over  their  gray 
backs  and  his  voice  rang  out  in  fierce  exhortation. 
So  hard  was  the  frozen  crust  of  the  Barren  that 
snowshoes  were  no  longer  necessary,  and  half  a 
dozen  times  Philip  left  the  sledge  and  ran  with 
the  wolf -man  and  his  pack  until  he  was  winded. 
Twice  he  ran  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Bram. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  that  his 
compass  told  him  they  were  no  longer  traveling 
north — but  almost  due  west.  Every  quarter  of 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  73 

an  hour  after  that  he  looked  at  his  compass. 
And  always  the  course  was  west. 

He  was  convinced  that  some  unusual  excite 
ment  was  urging  Bram  on,  and  he  was  equally 
certain  this  excitement  had  taken  possession  of 
him  from  the  moment  he  had  found  the  food  in 
his  pack.  Again  and  again  he  heard  the  strange 
giant  mumbling  incoherently  to  himself,  but  not 
once  did  Bram  utter  a  word  that  he  could  under 
stand. 

The  gray  world  about  them  was  darkening 
when  at  last  they  stopped. 

And  now,  strangely  as  before,  Bram  seemed  for 
a  few  moments  to  turn  into  a  sane  man. 

He  pointed  to  the  bundle  of  fuel,  and  as 
casually  as  though  he  had  been  conversing  with 
him  all  the  day  he  said  to  Philip : 

"A  fire,  m'sieu." 

The  wolves  had  dropped  in  their  traces,  their 
great  shaggy  heads  stretched  out  between  their 
paws  in  utter  exhaustion,  and  Bram  went  slowly 
down  the  line  speaking  to  each  one  in  turn.  After 
that  he  fell  again  into  his  stolid  silence.  From 
the  bear  skins  he  produced  a  kettle,  filled  it  with 
snow,  and  hung  it  over  the  pile  of  fagots  to  which 
Philip  was  touching  a  match.  Philip's  tea  pail 
he  employed  in  the  same  way. 


74  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

"How  far  have  we  come,  Bram?"  Philip  asked. 

"Fiff  mile,  m'sieu,"  answered  Bram  without 
hesitation. 

"And  how  much  farther  have  we  to  go?" 

Bram  grunted.  His  face  became  more  stolid. 
In  his  hand  he  was  holding  the  big  knife  with 
which  he  cut  the  caribou  meat.  He  was  staring 
at  it.  From  the  knife  he  looked  at  Philip. 

"I  keel  ze  man  at  God's  Lake  because  he  steal 
ze  knife — an'  call  me  lie.  I  keel  heem — lak 
that!" — and  he  snatched  up  a  stick  and  broke  it 
into  two  pieces. 

His  weird  laugh  followed  the  words.  He  went 
to  the  meat  and  began  carving  off  chunks  for  the 
pack,  and  for  a  long  time  after  that  one  would 
have  thought  that  he  was  dumb.  Philip  made 
greater  effort  than  ever  to  rouse  him  into  speech. 
He  laughed,  and  whistled,  and  once  tried  the  ex 
periment  of  singing  a  snatch  of  the  Caribou  Song 
which  he  knew  that  Bram  must  have  heard  many 
times  before.  As  he  roasted  his  steak  over  the 
fire  he  talked  about  the  Barren,  and  the  great 
herd  of  caribou  he  had  seen  farther  east ;  he  asked 
Bram  questions  about  the  weather,  the  wolves, 
and  the  country  farther  north  and  west.  More 
than  once  he  was  certain  that  Bram  was  listening 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  75 

intently,  but  nothing  more  than  an  occasional 
grunt  was  his  response. 

For  an  hour  after  they  had  finished  their  sup 
per  they  continued  to  melt  snow  for  drinking 
water  for  themselves  and  the  wolves.  Night  shut 
them  in,  and  in  the  glow  of  the  fire  Bram  scooped 
a  hollow  in  the  snow  for  a  bed,  and  tilted  the  big 
sledge  over  it  as  a  roof.  Philip  made  himself 
as  comfortable  as  he  could  with  his  sleeping  bag, 
using  his  tent  as  an  additional  protection.  The 
fire  went  out.  Bram's  heavy  breathing  told 
Philip  that  the  wolf-man  was  soon  asleep.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  he  felt  a  drowsiness  creep 
ing  over  himself. 

Later  he  was  awakened  by  a  heavy  grasp  on 
his  arm,  and  roused  himself  to  hear  Bram's  voice 
close  over  him. 

"Get  up,  m'sieu." 

It  was  so  dark  he  could  not  see  Bram  when  he 
got  on  his  feet,  but  he  could  hear  him  a  moment 
later  among  the  wolves,  and  knew  that  he  was 
making  ready  to  travel.  When  his  sleeping-bag 
and  tent  were  on  the  sledge  he  struck  a  match  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  after  midnight. 

For  two  hours  Bram  led  his  pack  straight  into 


76  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

the  west.  The  night  cleared  after  that,  and  as 
the  stars  grew  brighter  and  more  numerous  in 
the  sky  the  plain  was  lighted  up  on  all  sides  of 
them,  as  on  the  night  when  Philip  had  first  seen 
Bram.  By  lighting  an  occasional  match  Philip 
continued  to  keep  a  record  of  direction  and  time. 
It  was  three  o'clock,  and  they  were  still  traveling 
west,  when  to  his  surprise  they  struck  a  small 
patch  of  timber.  The  clump  of  stunted  and  wind- 
snarled  spruce  covered  no  more  than  half  an  acre, 
but  it  was  conclusive  evidence  they  were  again 
approaching  a  timber-line. 

From  the  patch  of  spruce  Bram  struck  due 
north,  and  for  another  hour  their  trail  was  over 
the  white  Barren.  Soon  after  this  they  came  to 
a  fringe  of  scattered  timber  which  grew  steadily 
heavier  and  deeper  as  they  entered  into  it.  They 
must  have  penetrated  eight  or  ten  miles  into  the 
forest  before  the  dawn  came.  And  in  that  dawn, 
gray  and  gloomy,  they  came  suddenly  upon  a 
cabin. 

Philip's  heart  gave  a  jump.  Here,  at  last,! 
would  the  mystery  of  the  golden  snare  be  solved. 
This  was  his  first  thought.  But  as  they  drew 
nearer,  and  stopped  at  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
he  felt  sweep  over  him  an  utter  disappointment. 
There  was  no  life  here.  No  smoke  came  from 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  77 

the  chimney  and  the  door  was  almost  buried  in  a 
huge  drift  of  snow.  His  thoughts  were  cut  short 
by  the  crack  of  Bram's  whip.  The  wolves  swept 
onward  and  Bram's  insane  laugh  sent  a  weird 
and  shuddering  echo  through  the  forest. 

From  the  time  they  left  behind  them  the  life 
less  and  snow-smothered  cabin  Philip  lost  ac 
count  of  time  and  direction.  He  believed  that 
Bram  was  nearing  the  end  of  his  trail.  The 
wolves  were  dead  tired.  The  wolf-man  himself 
was  lagging,  and  since  midnight  had  ridden  more- 
f  requently  on  the  sledge.  Still  he  drove  on,  and 
Philip  searched  with  increasing  eagerness  the 
trail  ahead  of  them. 

It  was  eight  o'clock — two  hours  after  they  had 
passed  the  cabin — when  they  came  to  the  edge  of 
a  clearing  in  the  center  of  which  was  a  second 
cabin.  Here  at  a  glance  Philip  saw  there  was 
life.  A  thin  spiral  of  smoke  was  rising  from  the 
chimney.  He  could  see  only  the  roof  of  the  log 
structure,  for  it  was  entirely  shut  in  by  a  circular 
stockade  of  saplings  six  feet  high. 

Twenty  paces  from  where  Bram  stopped  his 
team  was  the  gate  of  the  stockade.  Bram  went 
to  it,  thrust  his  arm  through  a  hole  even  with  his 
shoulders,  and  a  moment  later  the  gate  swung  in 
ward.  For  perhaps  a  space  of  twenty  seconds  h& 


78  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

looked  steadily  at  Philip,  and  for  the  first  time 
Philip  observed  the  remarkable  change  that  had 
come  into  his  face.  It  was  no  longer  a  face  of 
almost  brutish  impassiveness.  There  was  a 
strange  glow  in  his  eyes.  His  thick  lips  were 
parted  as  if  on  the  point  of  speech,  and  he  was 
breathing  with  a  quickness  which  did  not  come 
of  physical  exertion.  Philip  did  not  move  or 
speak.  Behind  him  he  heard  the  restless  whine 
of  the  wolves.  He  kept  his  eyes  on  Bram,  and 
as  he  saw  the  look  of  joy  and  anticipation 
deepening  in  the  wolf -man's  face  the  appalling 
thought  of  what  it  meant  sickened  him.  He 
clenched  his  hands.  Bram  did  not  see  the  act. 
He  was  looking  again  toward  the  cabin  and  at 
the  spiral  of  smoke  rising  out  of  the  chimney. 

Then  he  faced  Philip,  and  said, 

"M'sieu,  you  go  to  ze  cabin. " 

He  held  the  gate  open,  and  Philip  entered.  He 
paused  to  make  certain  of  B  ram's  intention. 
The  wolf -man  swept  an  arm  about  the  enclosure. 

"In  ze  pit  I  loose  ze  wolve,  m'sieu." 

Philip  understood.  The  stockade  enclosure 
was  Bram's  wolf -pit,  and  Bram  meant  that  he 
should  reach  the  cabin  before  he  gave  the  pack 
the  freedom  of  the  corral.  He  tried  to  conceal  the 
excitement  in  his  face  as  he  turned  toward  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  79 

cabin.  From  the  gate  to  the  door  ran  a  path 
worn  by  many  footprints,  and  his  heart  beat 
faster  as  he  noted  the  smallness  of  the  moccasin 
tracks.  Even  then  his  mind  fought  against  the 
possibility  of  the  thing.  Probably  it  was  an  In 
dian  woman  who  lived  with  Bram,  or  an  Eskimo 
girl  he  had  brought  down  from  the  north. 

He  made  no  sound  as  he  approached  the  door. 
He  did  not  knock,  but  opened  it  and  entered,  as 
Bram  had  invited  him  to  do. 

From  the  gate  Bram  watched  the  cabin  door 
as  it  closed  behind  him,  and  then  he  threw  back 
his  head  and  such  a  laugh  of  triumph  came  from 
his  lips  that  even  the  tired  beasts  behind  him 
pricked  up  their  ears  and  listened. 

And  Philip,  in  that  same  moment,  had  solved 
the  mystery  of  the  golden  snare. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PHILIP  had  entered  Bram  Johnson's  cabin  from 
the  west.  Out  of  the  east  the  pale  fire  of  the 
winter  sun  seemed  to  concentrate  itself  on  the 
one  window  of  Bram's  habitation,  and  flooded  the 
opposite  partition.  In  this  partition  there  was 
a  doorway,  and  in  the  doorway  stood  a  girl. 

She  was  standing  full  in  the  light  that  came 
through  the  window  when  Philip  saw  her.  His 
first  impression  was  that  she  was  clouded  in  the 
same  wonderful  hair  that  had  gone  into  the  mak 
ing  of  the  golden  snare.  It  billowed  over  her 
arms  and  breast  to  her  hips,  aflame  with  the 
living  fires  of  the  reflected  sun.  His  second  im 
pression  was  that  his  entrance  had  interrupted 
her  while  she  was  dressing  and  that  she  was  be 
numbed  with  astonishment  as  she  stared  at  him. 
He  caught  the  white  gleam  of  her  bare  shoulders 
under  her  hair.  And  then,  with  a  shock,  he  saw 
what  was  in  her  face. 

It  turned  his  blood  cold.  It  was  the  look  of  a 
soul  that  had  been  tortured.  Agony  and  doubt 

80 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  81 

burned  in  the  eyes  that  were  looking  at  him.  He 
had  never  seen  such  eyes.  They  were  like  violet 
amethysts.  Her  face  was  dead  white.  It  was 
beautiful.  And  she  was  young.  She  was  not 
over  twenty,  it  flashed  upon  him — but  she  had 
gone  through  a  hell. 

"Don't  let  me  alarm  you,"  he  said,  speaking 
gently.  "I  am  Philip  Eaine  of  the  Royal  North 
west  Mounted  Police." 

It  did  not  surprise  him  that  she  made  no 
answer.  As  plainly  as  if  she  had  spoken  it  he 
had  in  those  few  swift  moments  read  the  story  in 
her  face.  His  heart  choked  him  as  he  waited  for 
her  lips  to  move.  It  was  a  mystery  to  him  after 
ward  why  he  accepted  the  situation  so  utterly 
as  he  stood  there.  He  had  no  question  to  ask, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind.  He  knew 
that  he  would  kill  Bram  Johnson  when  the  mo 
ment  arrived. 

The  girl  had  not  seemed  to  breathe,  but  now 
she  drew  in  her  breath  in  a  great  gasp.  He  could 
see  the  sudden  throb  of  her  breast  under  her  hair, 
but  the  frightened  light  did  not  leave  her  eyes 
even  when  he  repeated  the  words  he  had  spoken. , 
Suddenly  she  ran  to  the  window,  and  Philip  saw 
the  grip  of  her  hands  at  the  sill  as  she  looked 
out.  Through  the  gate  Bram  was  driving  his 


82  THE  GOLDEN  SNAKE 

wolves.  When  she  faced  him  again,  her  eyes  had 
in  them  the  look  of  a  creature  threatened  by  a 
whip.  It  amazed  and  startled  him.  As  he  ad 
vanced  a  step  she  cringed  back  from  him.  It 
struck  him  then  that  her  face  was  like  the  face 
of  an  angel — filled  with  a  mad  horror.  She 
reached  out  her  bare  arms  to  hold  him  back,  and 
a  strange  pleading  cry  came  from  her  lips. 

The  cry  stopped  him  like  a  shot.  He  knew  that 
she  had  spoken  to  him.  And  yet  he  had  not 
understood!  He  tore  open  his  coat  and  the  sun 
light  fell  on  his  bronze  insignia  of  the  Service. 
Its  effect  on  her  amazed  him  even  more  than  had 
her  sudden  fear  of  him.  It  occurred  to  him  sud 
denly  that  with  a  two  weeks'  ragged  growth  of 
beard  on  his  face  he  must  look  something  like  a 
beast  himself.  She  had  feared  him,  as  she  feaied 
Bram,  until  she  saw  the  badge. 

"I  am  Philip  Raine,  of  the  Eoyal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police,"  he  repeated  again.  "I  have 
come  up  here  especially  to  help  you,  if  you  need 
help.  I  could  have  got  Bram  farther  back,  but 
there  was  a  reason  why  I  didn't  want  him  until 
I  found  his  cabin.  That  reason  was  you.  Why 
are  you  here  with  a  madman  and  a  murderer?" 

She  was  watching  him  intently.  Her  eyes  were 
on  his  lips,  and  into  her  face — white  a  few  mo- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  83 

inents  before — had  risen  swiftly  a  flush  of  color. 
He  saw  the  dread  die  out  of  her  eyes  in  a  new  and 
dazzling  excitement.  Outside  they  could  hear 
Bram.  The  girl  turned  again  and  looked 
through  the  window.  Then  she  began  talking, 
swiftly  and  eagerly,  in  a  language  that  was  as 
strange  to  Philip  as  the  mystery  of  her  presence 
in  Bram  Johnson's  cabin.  She  knew  that  he 
could  not  understand,  and  suddenly  she  came  up 
close  to  him  and  put  a  finger  to  his  lips,  and  then 
to  her  own,  and  shook  her  head.  He  could  fairly 
feel  the  throb  of  her  excitement.  The  astound 
ing  truth  held  him  dumb.  She  was  trying  to 
make  him  comprehend  something — in  a  language 
which  he  had  never  heard  before  in  all  his  life. 
He  stared  at  her — like  an  idiot  he  told  himself 
afterward. 

And  then  the  shuffle  of  Bram's  heavy  feet 
sounded  just  outside  the  door.  Instantly  the  old 
light  leapt  into  the  girl's  eyes.  Before  the  door 
could  open  she  had  darted  into  the  room  from 
which  she  had  first  appeared,  her  hair  floating 
about  her  in  a  golden  cloud  as  she  ran. 

The  door  opened,  and  Bram  entered.  At  his 
heels,  beyond  the  threshold,  Philip  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  pack  glaring  hungrily  into  the 
cabin.  Bram  was  burdened  under  the  load  he 


84  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

had  brought  from  the  sledge.  He  dropped  it  to 
the  floor,  and  without  looking  at  Philip  his  eyes 
fastened  themselves  on  the  door  to  the  inner 
room. 

They  stood  there  for  a  full  minute,  Bram  as  if 
hypnotized  by  the  door,  and  Philip  with  his  eyes 
on  Bram.  Neither  moved,  and  neither  made  a 
sound.  A  curtain  had  dropped  over  the  entrance 
to  the  inner  room,  and  beyond  that  they  could 
hear  the  girl  moving  about.  A  dozen  emotions 
were  fighting  in  Philip.  If  he  had  possessed  a 
weapon  he  would  have  ended  the  matter  with 
Bram  then,  for  the  light  that  was  burning  like  a 
strange  flame  in  the  wolf -man's  eyes  convinced 
him  that  he  had  guessed  the  truth.  Bare-handed 
he  was  no  match  for  the  giant  madman.  For  the 
first  time  he  let  his  glance  travel  cautiously  about 
the  room.  Near  the  stove  was  a  pile  of  firewood. 
A  stick  of  this  would  do — when  the  opportunity 
came. 

And  then,  in  a  way  that  made  him  almost  cry 
out,  every  nerve  in  his  body  was  startled.  The 
girl  appeared  in  the  doorway,  a  smile  on  her  lips 
and  her  eyes  shining  radiantly — straight  at- 
Bram!  She  partly  held  out  her  arms,  and  began 
talking.  She  seemed  utterly  oblivious  of  Philip's 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  85 

presence.  Not  a  word  that  she  uttered  could  he 
understand.  It  was  not  Cree  or  Chippewyan  or 
Eskimo.  It  was  not  French  or  German  or  any 
tongue  that  he  had  ever  heard.  Her  voice  was 
pure  and  soft.  It  trembled  a  little,  and  she  was 
breathing  quickly.  But  the  look  in  her  face  that 
had  at  first  horrified  him  was  no  longer  there. 
She  had  braided  her  hair  and  had  coiled  the  shin 
ing  strands  on  the  crown  of  her  head,  and  the 
coloring  in  her  face  was  like  that  of  a  rare  paint 
ing.  In  these  astounding  moments  he  knew  that 
such  color  and  such  hair  did  not  go  with  any  race 
that  had  ever  bred  in  the  northland.  From  her 
face,  even  as  her  lips  spoke,  he  looked  at  Bram. 
The  wolf-man  was  transfigured.  His  strange 
eyes  were  shining,  his  heavy  face  was  filled  with 
a  dog-like  joy,  and  his  thick  lips  moved  as  if  he 
was  repeating  to  himself  what  the  girl  was  say 
ing. 

Was  it  possible  that  he  understood  her?  Was 
the  strange  language  in  which  she  was  speaking 
common  between  them?  At  first  Philip  thought 
that  it  must  be  so — and  all  the  horrors  of  the 
situation  that  he  had  built  up  for  himself  fell 
about  him  in  confusing  disorder.  The  girl,  as  she 
stood  there  now,  seemed  glad  that  Bram  had  re- 


86  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

turned;  and  with  a  heart  choking  him  with 
its  suspense  he  waited  for  Bram  to  speak,  and 
act. 

When  the  girl  ceased  speaking  the  wolf-man's 
response  came  in  a  guttural  cry  that  was  like  a 
paean  of  triumph.  He  dropped  on  his  knees  be 
side  the  dunnage  bag  and  mumbling  thickly  as  he 
worked  he  began  emptying  its  contents  upon  the 
floor. 

Philip  looked  at  the  girl.  She  was  looking  at 
him  now.  Her  hands  were  clutched  at  her  breast, 
and  in  her  face  and  attitude  there  was  a  wordless 
entreaty  for  him  to  understand.  The  truth  came 
to  him  like  a  flash.  For  some  reason  she  had 
forced  herself  to  appear  that  way  to  the  wolf- 
man.  She  had  forced  herself  to  smile,  forced  the 
look  of  gladness  into  her  face,  and  the  words  from 
her  lips.  And  now  she  was  trying  to  tell  him 
what  it  meant,  and  pointing  to  Bram  as  he  knelt 
with  his  huge  head  and  shoulders  bent  over  the 
dunnage  bag  on  the  floor  she  exclaimed  in  a  low, 
tense  voice: 

"Tossi — tossi — han-er  tossi!" 

It  was  useless.  He  could  not  understand,  and 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  hide  the  bewilder 
ment  in  his  face.  All  at  once  an  inspiration  came 
to  him.  Brain's  back  was  toward  him,  and  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  87 

pointed  to  the  sticks  of  firewood.  His  panto 
mime  was  clear.  Should  he  knock  the  wolf -man's 
brains  out  as  he  knelt  there? 

He  could  see  that  his  question  sent  a  thrill  of 
alarm  through  her.  She  shook  her  head.  Her 
lips  formed  strange  words,  and  looking  again  at 
Bram  she  repeated,  "Tossi — tossi — han  er  tossi!" 
She  clasped  her  hands  suddenly  to  her  head  then. 
Her  slim  fingers  buried  themselves  in  the  thick 
braids  of  her  hair.  Her  eyes  dilated — and  sud 
denly  understanding  flashed  upon  him.  She  was 
telling  him  what  he  already  knew — that  Bram 
Johnson  was  mad,  and  he  repeated  after  her  the 
"Tossi — tossi,"  tapping  his  forehead  sugges 
tively,  and  nodding  at  Bram.  Yes,  that  was  it. 
He  could  see  it  in  the  quick  intake  of  her  breath 
and  the  sudden  expression  of  relief  that  swept 
over  her  face.  She  had  been  afraid  he  would  at 
tack  the  wolf -man.  And  now  she  was  .^lad  that 
he  understood  he  was  not  to  harm  him. 

If  the  situation  had  seemed  fairly  clear  to  him 
a  few  minutes  before  it  had  become  more  deeply 
mysterious  than  ever  now.  Even  as  the  wolf- 
man  rose  from  his  knees,  still  mumbling  to  him 
self  in  incoherent  exultation,  the  great  and  un 
answerable  question  pounded  in  Philip's  brain: 
"Who  was  this  girl,  and  what  was  she  to  Bram 


88  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Johnson — the  crazed  outlaw  whom  she  feared  and 
yet  whom  she  did  not  wish  him  to  harm?" 

And  then  he  saw  her  staring  at  the  things  which 
Bram  had  sorted  ont  on  the  floor.  In  her  eyes 
was  hunger.  It  was  a  living,  palpitant  part  of 
her  now  as  she  stared  at  the  things  which  Bram 
had  taken  from  the  dunnage  bag — as  surely  as 
Bram's  madness  was  a  part  of  him.  As  Philip 
watched  her  he  knew  that  slowly  the  curtain  was 
rising  on  the  tragedy  of  the  golden  snare.  In  a 
way  the  look  that  he  saw  in  her  face  shocked  him 
more  than  anything  that  he  had  seen  in  Bram's. 
It  was  as  if,  in  fact,  a  curtain  had  lifted  before 
his  eyes  revealing  to  him  an  unbelievable  truth, 
and  something  of  the  hell  through  which  she  had 
gone.  She  was  hungry — for  something  that  was 
not  flesh!  Swiftly  the  thought  flashed  upon  him 
why  the  wolf-man  had  traveled  so  far  to  the 
south,  and  why  he  had  attacked  him  for  posses 
sion  of  his  food  supply.  It  was  that  he  might 
bring  these  things  to  the  girl.  He  knew  that  it 
was  sex-pride  that  restrained  the  impulse  that 
was  pounding  in  every  vein  of  her  body.  She 
wanted  to  fling  herself  down  on  her  knees  beside 
that  pile  of  stuff — but  she  remembered  him! 
Her  eyes  met  his,  and  the  shame  of  her  confession 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  89 

swept  in  a  crimson  flood  into  her  face.  The 
feminine  instinct  told  her  that  she  had  betrayed 
herself — like  an  animal,  and  that  he  must  have 
seen  in  her  for  a  moment  something  that  was  al 
most  like  Bram's  own  madness. 


CHAPTEE  X 

UNTIL  he  felt  the  warm  thrill  of  the  girl's  arm 
under  his  hand  Philip  did  not  realize  the  hazard 
he  had  taken.  He  turned  suddenly  to  confront 
Branx  He  would  not  have  known  then  that  the 
wolf  -man  was  mad,  and  impulsively  he  reached 
out  a  hand. 

"Bram,  she's  starving,"  he  cried.  "I  know 
now  why  you  wanted  that  stuff!  But  why  didn't 
you  tell  me?  Why  don't  you  talk,  and  let  me 
know  who  she  is,  and  why  she  is  here,  and  what 
you  want  me  to  do?" 

He  waited,  and  Bram  stared  at  him  without  a 
sound. 

I    tell    you    I'm    a    friend,"    he    went    on. 


" 


He  got  no  farther  than  that,  for  suddenly  the 
cabin  was  filled  with  the  madness  of  Bram's 
laugh.  It  was  more  terrible  than  out  on  the  open 
Barren,  or  in  the  forest,  and  he  felt  the  shudder 
of  the  girl  at  his  side.  Her  face  was  close  to  his 
shoulder,  and  looking  down  he  saw  that  it  was 

CO 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  91 

white  as  death,  but  that  even  then  she  was  trying 
to  smile  at  Bram.  And  Bram  continued  to  laugh 
— and  as  he  laughed,  his  eyes  blazing  a  greenish 
fire,  he  turned  to  the  stove  and  began  putting  fuel 
into  the  fire.  It  was  horrible.  Bram's  laugh — 
the  girl's  dead  white  face,  and  her  smile!  He  no 
longer  asked  himself  who  she  was,  and  why  she 
was  there.  He  was  overwhelmed  by  the  one  ap 
palling  fact  that  she  was  here,  and  that  the 
stricken  soul  crying  out  to  him  from  the  depths 
of  those  eyes  that  were  like  wonderful  blue 
amethysts  told  him  that  Bram  had  made  her  pay 
the  price.  His  muscles  hardened  as  he  looked  at 
the  huge  form  bending  over  the  stove.  It  was  a 
splendid  opportunity.  A  single  leap  and  he  would 
be  at  the  outlaw's  throat.  With  that  advantage, 
in  open  combat,  the  struggle  would  at  least  be 
equal. 

The  girl  must  have  guessed  what  was  in  his 
mind,  for  suddenly  her  fingers  were  clutching  at 
his  arm  and  she  was  pulling  him  away  from  the 
wolf -man,  speaking  to  him  in  the  language  which 
he  could  not  understand.  And  then  Bram  turned 
from  the  stove,  picked  up  a  pail,  and  without 
looking  at  them  left  the  cabin.  They  could  hear 
his  laugh  as  he  joined  the  wolves. 

Again  Philip's  conclusions  toppled  down  about 


92  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

him  like  a  thing  made  of  blocks.  During  the  next 
few  moments  he  knew  that  the  girl  was  telling 
him  that  Bram  had  not  harmed  her.  She  seemed 
almost  hysterically  anxious  to  make  him  under 
stand  this,  and  at  last,  seizing  him  by  the  hand, 
she  drew  him  into  the  room  beyond  the  curtained 
door.  Her  meaning  was  quite  as  plain  as  words. 
She  was  showing  him  what  Bram  had  done  for 
her.  He  had  made  her  this  separate  room  by 
running  a  partition  across  the  cabin,  and  in  addi 
tion  to  this  he  had  built  a  small  lean-to  outside 
the  main  wall  entered  through  a  narrow  door 
made  of  saplings  that  were  still  green.  He 
noticed  that  the  partition  was  also  made  of  fresh 
timber.  Except  for  the  bunk  built  against  the 
wall,  a  crude  chair,  a  sapling  table  and  half  a 
dozen  bear  skins  that  carpeted  the  floor  the  room 
was  empty.  A  few  garments  hung  on  the  wall — 
a  hood  made  of  fur,  a  thick  mackinaw  coat  belted 
at  the  waist  with  a  red  scarf,  and  something  done 
up  in  a  small  bundle. 

"I  guess — I  begin  to  get  your  meaning,"  he 
said,  looking  straight  into  her  shining  blue  eyes. 
"You  want  to  impress  on  me  that  I'm  not  to 
wring  Bram  Johnson's  neck  when  his  back  is 
turned,  or  at  any  other  time,  and  you  want  me 
to  believe  that  he  hasn't  done  you  any  harm. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  93 

And  yet  you  're  afraid  to  the  bottom  of  your  souL 
I  know  it.  A  little  while  ago  your  face  was  as 
white  as  chalk,  and  now — now — it's  the  prettiest 
face  I've  ever  seen.  Now,  see  here,  little 
girl » 

It  gave  him  a  pleasant  thrill  to  see  the  glow  in 
her  eyes  and  the  eager  poise  of  her  slim,  beautiful 
body  as  she  listened  to  him. 

"I'm  licked,"  he  went  on,  smiling  frankly  at 
her.  "At  least  for  the  present.  Maybe  I've 
gone  loony,  like  Bram,  and  don't  realize  it  yet. 
I  set  out  for  a  couple  of  Indians,  and  find  a  mad 
man;  and  at  the  madman's  cabin  I  find  you,  look 
ing  at  first  as  though  you  were  facing  straight  up 
against  the  door  of — of — well,  seeing  that  you 
can't  understand  I  might  as  well  say  it — of  hell! 
Now,  if  you  weren't  afraid  of  Bram,  and  if  he 
hasn't  hurt  you,  why  did  you  look  like  that?  I'm 
stumped.  I  repeat  it — dead  stumped.  I'd  give 
a  million  dollars  if  I  could  make  Bram  talk.  I 
saw  what  was  in  his  eyes.  You  saw  it — and  that 
pretty  pink  went  out  of  your  face  so  quick  it 
seemed  as  though  your  heart  must  have  stopped 
beating.  And  yet  you're  trying  to  tell  me  he 
hasn't  harmed  you.  My  God — I  wish  I  could 
believe  it!" 

In  her  face  he  saw  the  reflection  of  the  change 


94  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

that  must   have  come   suddenly   into   his   own. 

"You're  a  good  fifteen  hundred  miles  from  any 
other  human  being  with  hair  and  eyes  and  color 
like  yours, "  he  continued,  as  though  in  speaking 
his  thoughts  aloud  to  her  some  ray  of  light  might 
throw  itself  on  the  situation.  "If  you  had  some 
thing  black  about  you.  But  you  haven't. 
You're  all  gold — pink  and  white  and  gold.  If 
Bram  has  another  fit  of  talking  he  may  tell  me 
you  came  from  the  moon — that  a  cliasse-galere 
crew  brought  you  down  out  of  space  to  keep  house 
for  him.  Great  Scott,  can't  you  give  me  some 
sort  of  an  idea  of  who  you  are  and  where  you 
'same  from?" 

He  paused  for  an  answer — and  she  smiled  at 
him.  There  was  something  pathetically  sweet  in 
that  smile.  It  brought  a  queer  lump  into  his 
throat,  and  for  a  space  he  forgot  Bram. 

"You  don't  understand  a  cussed  word  of  it,  do 
you?"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  both  his  own 
and  holding  it  closely  for  a  moment.  "Not  a 
word.  But  we're  getting  the  drift  of  things — 
slowly.  I  know  you've  been  here  quite  a  while, 
and  that  morning,  noon  and  night  since  the 
chasse-galere  brought  you  down  from  the  moon 
you've  had  nothing  to  pui  your  little  teeth  into 
but  meat.  Probably  without  salt,  too.  I  saw 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  95 

how  you  wanted  to  throw  yourself  down  on  that 
pile  of  stuff  on  the  floor.  Let's  have  breakfast!" 

He  led  her  into  the  outer  room,  and  eagerly  she 
set  to  work  helping  him  gather  the  things  from 
the  floor.  He  felt  that  an  overwhelming  load  had 
been  lifted  from  his  heart,  and  he  continued  to 
tell  her  about  it  while  he  hurried  the  preparation 
of  the  breakfast  for  which  he  knew  she  was 
hungering.  He  did  not  look  at  her  too  closely. 
All  at  once  it  had  dawned  upon  him  that  her  situ 
ation  must  be  tremendously  more  embarrassing 
than  his  own.  He  felt,  too,  the  tingle  of  a  new 
excitement  in  his  veins.  It  was  a  pleasurable 
sensation,  something  which  he  did  not  pause  to 
analyze  just  at  present.  Only  he  knew  that  it 
was  because  she  had  told  him  as  plainly  as  she 
could  that  Bram  had  not  harmed  her. 

"And  if  he  had  I  guess  you'd  have  let  me 
smash  his  brains  out  when  he  was  bending  over 
the  stove,  wouldn't  you!"  he  said,  stirring  the 
mess  of  desiccated  potato  he  was  warming  in  one 
of  his  kit-pans.  He  looked  up  to  see  her  eyes 
shining  at  him,  and  her  lips  parted.  She  was  de 
lightfully  pretty.  He  knew  that  every  nerve  in 
her  body  was  straining  to  understand  him.  Her 
braid  had  slipped  over  her  shoulder.  It  was  as 
thick  as  his  wrist,  and  partly  undone.  He  had 


96  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

never  dreamed  that  a  woman's  hair  conld  hold 
such  soft  warm  fires  of  velvety  gold.  Suddenly 
lie  straightened  himself  and  tapped  his  chest,  an 
inspiring  thought  leaping  into  his  head. 

"I  am  Philip  Baine,"  he  said.  " Philip  Bairn 
—Philip  Baine— Philip  Baine " 

He  repeated  the  name  over  and  over  again, 
pointing  each  time  to  himself.  Instantly  light 
flashed  into  her  face.  It  was  as  if  all  at  once 
they  had  broken  through  the  barrier  that  had 
separated  them.  She  repeated  his  name,  slowly, 
clearly,  smiling  at  him,  and  then  with  both  handa 
at  her  breast,  she  said: 

"Celie  Armin." 

He  wanted  to  jump  over  the  stove  and  shake 
hands  with  her,  but  the  potatoes  were  sizzling. 
Celie  Armin!  He  repeated  the  name  as  he 
stirred  the  potatoes,  and  each  time  he  spoke  it 
she  nodded.  It  was  decidedly  a  French  name — 
but  half  a  minute 's  experiment  with  a  few  simple 
sentences  of  Pierre  Breault's  language  convinced 
him  that  the  girl  understood  no  word  of  it. 

Then  he  said  again: 

"Celie!" 

Almost  in  the  same  breath  she  answered : 

"Philip!" 

Sounds  outside  the  cabin  announced  the  return 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  97 

of  Bram.  Following  the  snarl  and  whine  of  the 
pack  came  heavy  footsteps,  and  the  wolf-man 
entered.  Philip  did  not  turn  his  head  toward  the 
door.  He  did  not  look  at  first  to  see  what  effect 
Bram's  return  had  on  Celie  Armin.  He  went  on 
casually  with  his  work.  He  even  began  to 
whistle;  and  then,  after  a  final  stir  or  two  at  the 
potatoes,  he  pointed  to  the  pail  in  which  the  coffee 
was  bubbling,  and  said: 

"Turn  the  coffee,  Celie.    We're  ready  I" 

He  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face  then.  The  ex 
citement  and  color  had  partly  died  out  of  it.  She 
took  the  pail  of  coffee  and  went  with  it  to  the 
table. 

Then  Philip  faced  Bram. 

The  wolf -man  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
door.  He  had  not  moved  since  entering,  and  he 
was  staring  at  the  scene  before  him  in  a  dull, 
stupid  sort  of  way.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  pail 
filled  with  water;  in  the  other  a  frozen  fish. 

"Too  late  with  the  fish,  Bram,"  said  Philip. 
"  We  couldn't  make  the  little  lady  wait.  Besides, 
I  think  you've  fed  her  on  fish  and  meat  until  she 
is  just  about  ready  to  die.  Come  to  breakfast!" 

He  loaded  a  tin  plate  with  hot  potatoes,  ban 
nock-bread  and  rice  that  he  had  cooked  before 
setting  out  on  the  Barren,  and  placed  it  before 


98  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

the  girl.  A  second  plate  he  prepared  for  Bram, 
and  a  third  for  himself.  Bram  had  not  moved. 
He  still  held  the  pail  and  the  fish  in  his  hands. 
Suddenly  he  lowered  both  to  the  floor  with  a 
growl  that  seemed  to  come  from  the  bottom  of  his 
great  chest,  and  came  to  the  table.  With  one 
huge  hand  he  seized  Philip's  arm.  It  was  not  a 
man's  grip.  There  was  apparently  no  effort  in 
it,  and  yet  it  was  a  vise-like  clutch  that  threatened 
to  snap  the  bone.  And  all  the  time  Bram's  eyes 
were  on  the  girl.  He  drew  Philip  back,  released 
the  terrible  grip  on  his  arm,  and  shoved  the  two 
extra  plates  of  food  to  the  girl.  Then  he  faced 
Philip. 

"We  eat  ze  meat,  m'sieu!" 

Quietly  and  sanely  he  uttered  the  words.  In 
his  eyes  and  face  there  was  no  trace  of  madness. 
And  then,  even  as  Philip  stared,  the  change  came. 
The  giant  flung  back  his  head  and  his  wild,  mad 
laugh  rocked  the  cabin.  Out  in  the  corral  the 
snarl  and  cry  of  the  wolves  gave  a  savage  re 
sponse  to  it. 

It  took  a  tremendous  effort  for  Philip  to  keep 
a  grip  on  himself.  In  that  momentary  flash  of 
sanity  Bram  had  shown  a  chivalry  which  must 
have  struck  deep  home  in  the  heart  of  the  girl. 
There  was  a  sort  of  triumph  in  her  eyes  when  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  99 

looked  at  her.  She  knew  now  that  he  must  under 
stand  fully  what  she  had  been  trying  to  tell  him. 
Bram,  in  his  madness,  had  been  good  to  her. 
Philip  did  not  hesitate  in  the  impulse  of  the  mo 
ment.  He  caught  Bram's  hand  and  shook  it. 
And  Bram,  his  laugh  dying  away  in  a  mumbling 
sound,  seemed  not  to  notice  it.  As  Philip  began 
preparing  the  fish  the  wolf -man  took  up  a  posi 
tion  against  the  farther  wall,  squatted  Indian- 
fashion  on  his  heels.  He  did  not  take  his  eyes 
from  the  girl  until  she  had  finished,  and  Philip 
brought  him  a  half  of  the  fried  fish.  He  might 
as  well  have  offered  the  fish  to  a  wooden  sphinx. 
Bram  rose  to  his  feet,  mumbling  softly,  and  tak 
ing  what  was  left  of  one  of  the  two  caribou  quar 
ters  he  again  left  the  cabin. 

His  mad  laugh  and  the  snarling  outcry  of  the 
wolves  came  to  them  a  moment  later. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SCARCELY  had  the  door  closed  when  Celie 
Armin  ran  to  Philip  and  pulled  him  to  the  table. 
In  the  tense  half  hour  of  Bram's  watchfulness  she 
had  eaten  her  own  breakfast  as  if  nothing  un 
usual  had  happened;  now  she  insisted  on  adding 
potatoes  and  bannock  to  Philip's  fish,  and  turned 
him  a  cup  of  coffee. 

" Bless  your  heart,  you  don't  want  to  see  me 
beat  out  of  a  breakfast,  do  you?"  he  smiled  up 
at  her,  feeling  all  at  once  an  immense  desire  to 
pull  her  head  down  to  him  and  kiss  her.  "But 
you  don't  understand  the  situation,  little  girl. 
Now  I've  been  eating  this  confounded  bannock" 
— he  picked  up  a  chunk  of  it  to  demonstrate  his 
point — "morning,  noon  and  night  until  the  sight 
of  it  makes  me  almost  cry  for  one  of  mother's 
green  cucumber  pickles.  I'm  tired  of  it. 
Bram's  fish  is  a  treat.  And  this  coffee,  seeing 
that  you  have  turned  it  in  that  way " 

She  sat  opposite  him  while  he  ate,  and  he  had 

the  chance  of  observing  her  closely  while  his  meal 

100 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  101 

progressed.  It  struck  him  that  she  was  growing 
prettier  each  time  that  he  looked  at  her,  and  he 
was  more  positive  than  ever  that  she  was  a 
stranger  in  the  northland.  Again  he  told  himself 
that  she  was  not  more  than  twenty.  Mentally 
he  even  went  so  far  as  to  weigh  her  and  would 
have  gambled  that  she  would  not  have  tipped  a 
scale  five  pounds  one  way  or  the  other  from  a 
hundred  and  twenty.  Some  time  he  might  have 
seen  the  kind  of  violet-blue  that  was  in  her  eyes, 
but  he  could  not  remember  it.  She  was  lost — 
utterly  lost  at  this  far-end  of  the  earth.  She  was 
no  more  a  part  of  it  than  a  crepe  de  chine  ball 
dress  or  a  bit  of  rose  china.  And  there  she  was, 
sitting  opposite  him,  a  bewitching  mystery  for  him 
to  solve.  And  she  wanted  to  be  solved!  He 
could  see  it  in  her  eyes,  and  in  the  little  beating 
throb  at  her  throat,  She  was  fighting,  with  him, 
to  find  a  way ;  a  way  to  tell  him  who  she  was,  and 
why  she  was  here,  and  what  he  must  do  for  her. 
Suddenly  he  thought  of  the  golden  snare. 
That,  after  all,  he  believed  to  be  the  real  key  to 
the  mystery.  He  rose  quickly  from  the  table  and 
drew  the  girl  to  the  window.  At  the  far  end  of 
the  corral  they  could  see  Bram  tossing  chunks  of 
meat  to  the  horde  of  beasts  that  surrounded  him. 
In  a  moment  or  two  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 


102  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

seeing  that  Ms  companion  understood  that  he  was 
directing  her  attention  to  the  wolf -man  and  not 
the  pack.  Then  he  began  unbraiding  her  hair. 
His  fingers  thrilled  at  the  silken  touch  of  it.  He 
felt  his  face  flushing  hot  under  his  beard,  and  he 
knew  that  her  eyes  were  on  him  wonderingly.  A 
small  strand  he  divided  into  three  parts  and  be 
gan  weaving  into  a  silken  thread  only  a  little 
larger  than  the  wolf -man's  snare.  From  the 
woven  tress  he  pointed  to  Bram  and  in  an  instant 
her  face  lighted  up  with  understanding. 

She  answered  him  in  pantomime.  Either  she 
or  Bram  had  cut  the  tress  from  her  head  that 
had  gone  into  the  making  of  the  golden  snare. 
And  not  only  one  tress,  but  several.  There  had 
been  a  number  of  golden  snares.  She  bowed  her 
head  and  showed  him  where  strands  as  large  as 
her  little  finger  had  been  clipped  in  several  places. 

Philip  almost  groaned.  She  was  telling  him 
nothing  new,  except  that  there  had  been  many 
snares  instead  of  one. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  speech  when  the  look 
in  her  face  held  him -silent.  Her  eyes  glowed 
with  a  sudden  excitement — a  wild  inspiration. 
She  held  out  her  hands  until  they  nearly  touched 
his  breast. 

"Philip  Ealne — Amerika!"  she  cried. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  103 

Then,  pressing  her  hands  to  her  own  breast,  she 
added  eagerly: 

* '  Celie  Armin — DanmarJc ! ' ' 

"Denmark!"  exclaimed  Philip.  "Is  that  it, 
little  girl?  You're  from  Denmark?  Denmark? " 

She  nodded. 

"Kobenhavn — DanmarJc!" 

"Copenhagen,  Denmark,"  he  translated  for 
himself.  "Great  Scott,  Celie — we're  talking! 
Celie  Armin,  from  Copenhagen,  Denmark!  But 
how  in  Heaven's  name  did  you  get  here?"  He 
pointed  to  the  floor  under  their  feet  and  em 
braced  the  four  walls  of  the  cabin  in  a  wide  ges 
ture  of  his  arms.  "How  did  you  get  here?" 

Her  next  words  thrilled  him. 

"Kobenhavn — MusJcvas — St.  Petersburg— Bus- 
land — Sibirien — Amerika." 

"Copenhagen — Muskvas,  whatever  that  is — 
St.  Petersburg — Bussia — Siberia — America,"  he 
repeated,  staring  at  her  incredulously.  "Celie, 
if  you  love  me,  be  reasonable !  Do  you  expect  me 
to  believe  that  you  came  all  the  way  from  Den 
mark  to  this  God-forsaken  madman's  cabin  in  the 
heart  of  the  Canada  Barrens  by  way  of  Eussia 
and  Siberia?  YouJ  I  can't  believe  it.  There's 
a  mistake  somewhere.  Here " 

He  thought  of  his  pocket  atlas,  supplied  by  the 


104  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

department  as  a  part  of  his  service  kit,  and  re 
membered  that  in  the  back  of  it  was  a  small  map 
of  the  world.  In  half  a  minute  he  had  secured  it 
and  was  holding  the  map  under  her  eyes.  Her 
little  forefinger  touched  Copenhagen.  Leaning 
over  her  shoulder,  he  felt  her  hair  crumpling 
against  his  breast.  He  felt  an  insane  desire  to 
bury  his  face  in  it  and  hug  her  up  close  in  his 
arms — for  a  single  moment  the  question  of 
whether  she  came  from  Copenhagen  or  the  moon 
was  irrelevant  and  of  little  consequence.  He,  at 
least,  had  found  her.  He  was  digging  her  out  of 
chaos,  and  he  was  filled  with  the  joyous  exulta 
tion  of  a  triumphant  discoverer — almost  the  thrill 
of  ownership.  He  held  his  breath  as  he  watched 
the  little  forefinger  telling  him  its  story  on  the 
map. 

From  Copenhagen  it  went  to  Moscow — which 
must  have  been  Muskvas,  and  from  there  it  trailed 
slowly  to  St.  Petersburg  and  thence  straight 
across  Eussia  and  Siberia  to  Bering  Sea. 

"Skunnert,"  she  said  softly,  and  her  finger 
came  across  to  the  green  patch  on  the  map  which 
was  Alaska. 

It  hesitated  there.  Evidently  it  was  a  question 
in  her  own  mind  where  she  had  gone  after  that. 
At  least  she  could  not  tell  him  on  the  map.  And 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  105 

now,  seeing  that  he  was  understanding  her,  she 
was  becoming  visibly  excited.  She  pulled  him  to 
the  window  and  pointed  to  the  wolves.  Alaska 
— and  after  that  dogs  and  sledge.  He  nodded. 
He  was  jubilant.  She  was  Celie  Armin,  of 
Copenhagen,  Denmark,  and  had  come  to  Alaska 
by  way  of  Eussia  and  Siberia — and  after  that  had 
traveled  by  dog-train.  But  why  had  she  come, 
and  what  had  happened  to  make  her  the  com 
panion  or  prisoner  of  Bram  Johnson?  He  knew 
she  was  trying  to  tell  him.  With  her  back  to 
the  window  she  talked  to  him  again,  gesturing 
with  her  hands,  and  almost  sobbing  under  the 
stress  of  the  emotion  that  possessed  her.  His 
elation  turned  swiftly  to  the  old  dread  as  he 
watched  the  change  in  her  face.  Apprehension 
— a  grim  certainty — gripped  hold  of  him.  Some 
thing  terrible  had  happened  to  her — a  thing  that 
ihad  racked  her  soul  and  that  filled  her  eyes  with 
the  blaze  of  a  strange  terror  as  she  struggled  to 
make  him  understand.  And  then  she  broke 
down,  and  with  a  sobbing  cry  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

Out  in  the  corral  Philip  heard  Bram  Johnson's 
laugh.  It  was  a  mockery — a  challenge.  In  an 
instant  every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  answered 
it  in  a  surge  of  blind  rage.  He  sprang  to  the 


106  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

stove,  snatched  up  a  length  of  firewood,  and  in 
another  moment  was  at  the  door.  As  he  opened 
it  and  ran  out  he  heard  Celie 's  wild  appeal  for 
him  to  stop.  It  was  almost  a  scream.  Before  he 
had  taken  a  dozen  steps  from  the  cabin  he 
realized  what  the  warning  meant.  The  pack  had 
seen  him  and  from  the  end  of  the  corral  came 
rushing  at  him  in  a  thick  mass. 

This  time  Bram  Johnson's  voice  did  not  stop 
them.  He  saw  Philip,  and  from  the  doorway 
Celie  looked  upon  the  scene  while  the  blood  froze 
in  her  veins.  She  screamed — and  in  the  same 
breath  came  the  wolf -man's  laugh.  Philip  heard 
both  as  he  swung  the  stick  of  firewood  over  his 
head  and  sent  it  hurling  toward  the  pack.  The 
chance  accuracy  of  the  throw  gave  him  an  in 
stant's  time  in  which  to  turn  and  make  a  dash 
for  the  cabin.  It  was  Celie  who  slammed  the 
door  shut  as  he  sprang  through.  Swift  as  a 
flash  she  shot  the  bolt,  and  there  came  the  lunge 
of  heavy  bodies  outside.  They  could  hear  the 
snapping  of  jaws  and  the  snarling  whine  of  the 
beasts.  Philip  had  never  seen  a  face  whiter  than 
the  girl's  had  gone.  She  covered  it  with  her 
hands,  and  he  could  see  her  trembling.  A  bit 
of  a  sob  broke  hysterically  from  her  lips. 

He  knew  of  what  she  was  thinking — the  horri-^ 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  107 

ble  thing  she  was  hiding  from  her  eyes.  It  was 
plain  enough  to  him  now.  Twenty  seconds  more 
and  they  would  have  had  him.  And  then 

He  drew  in  a  deep  breath  and  gently  uncovered 
her  face.  Her  hands  shivered  in  his.  And  then 
a  great  throb  of  joy  repaid  him  for  his  venture 
into  the  jaws  of  death  as  he  saw  the  way  in  which 
her  beautiful  eyes  were  looking  at  him. 

"Celie — my  little  mystery  girl — I've  dis 
covered  something, ' '  he  cried  huskily,  holding  her 
hands  so  tightly  that  it  must  have  hurt  her. 
5 'I'm  almost  glad  you  can't  understand  me,  for 
.,  wouldn't  blame  you  for  being  afraid  of  a  man 
who  told  you  he  loved  you  an  hour  or  two  after 
ne  first  saw  you.  I  love  you.  I've  never  wanted 
anything  in  all  my  life  as  I  want  you.  And  I 
must  be  careful  and  not  let  you  know  it,  mustn't 
If  If  I  did  you'd  think  I  was  some  kind  of  an 
animal-brute — like  Bram.  "Wouldn't  you?" 

Bram's  voice  came  in  a  sharp  rattle  of  Eskimo 
outside.  Philip  could  hear  the  snarling  rebellion 
of  the  wolves  as  they  slunk  away  from  the  cabin, 
and  he  drew  Celie  back  from  the  door.  Suddenly 
she  freed  her  hands,  ran  to  the  door  and  slipped 
back  the  wooden  bolt  as  the  wolf -man's  hand 
fumbled  at  the  latch.  In  a  moment  she  was  back 
at  his  side.  When  Bram  entered  every  muscle  in 


108  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Philip's  body  was  prepared  for  action.  He  was 
amazed  at  the  wolf  -man 's  unconcern.  He  was 
mumbling  and  chuckling  to  himself,  as  if  amused 
at  what  he  had  seen.  Celie's  little  fingers  dug 
into  Philip's  arm  and  he  saw  in  her  eyes  a  tense, 
staring  look  that  had  not  been  there  before.  It 
was  as  if  in  Bram's  face  and  his  queer  mumbling 
she  had  recognized  something  which  was  not  ap 
parent  to  him.  Suddenly  she  left  him  and 
hurried  into  her  room.  During  the  few  moments 
she  was  gone  Bram  did  not  look  once  at  Philip. 
His  mumbling  was  incessant.  Perhaps  a  minute 
passed  before  the  girl  reappeared. 

She  went  straight  to  Bram  and  before  the  wolf- 
man's  eyes  held  a  long,  shining  tress  of  hair! 

Instantly  the  mumbling  in  Bram's  throat 
ceased  and  he  thrust  out  slowly  a  huge  misshapen 
hand  toward  the  golden  strand.  Philip  felt  his 
nerves  stretching  to  the  breaking  point.  With 
Bram  the  girl's  hair  was  a  fetich.  A  look  of 
strange  exultation  crept  over  the  giant's  heavy 
features  as  his  fingers  clutched  the  golden  offer 
ing.  It  almost  drew  a  cry  of  warning  from 
Philip.  He  saw  the  girl  smiling  in  the  face  of  a 
deadly  peril — a  danger  of  which  she  was  appar 
ently  unconscious.  Her  hair  still  fell  loose  about 
her  in  a  thick  and  shimmering  glory.  And 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  109 

Sram's  eyes  were  on  it  as  he  took  the  tress  from 
her  fingers!  Was  it  conceivable  that  this  mad 
man  did  not  comprehend  his  power  1  Had  the 
thought  not  yet  burned  its  way  into  his  thicb 
brain  that  a  treasure  many  times  greater  than 
that  which  she  had  doled  out  to  him,  lay  within 
the  reach  of  his  brute  hands  at  any  time  he  cared 
to  reach  out  for  it?  And  was  it  possible  that  the 
girl  did  not  guess  her  danger  as  she  stood  there? 

What  she  could  see  of  his  face  must  have  been 
as  pale  as  her  own  when  she  looked  at  him.  She 
smiled,  and  nodded  at  Bram.  The  giant  was 
turning  slowly  toward  the  window,  and  after  a 
moment  or  two  in  which  they  could  hear  him 
mumbling  softly  he  sat  down  cross-legged  against 
the  wall,  divided  the  tress  into  three  silken 
threads  and  began  weaving  them  into  a  snare. 
The  color  was  returning  to  Celie's  face  when 
Philip  looked  at  her  again.  She  told  him  with  a 
gesture  of  her  head  and  hands  that  she  was  go 
ing  into  her  room  for  a  time.  He  didn't  blame 
her.  The  excitement  had  been  rather  unusual. 

After  she  had  gone  he  dug  his  shaving  outfit 
out  of  his  kit-bag.  It  included  a  mirror  and  the 
reflection  he  saw  in  this  mirror  fairly  shocked 
him.  No  wonder  the  girl  had  been  frightened  at 
his  first  appearance.  It  took  him  half  an  hour  to 


110  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

shave  his  face  clean,  and  all  that  time  Brarn  paid 
no  attention  to  him  but  went  on  steadily  at  his 
task  of  weaving  the  golden  snare.  Celie  did  not 
reappear  until  the  wolf -man  had  finished  and  was 
leaving  the  cabin.  The  first  thing  she  noticed 
was  the  change  in  Philip's  face.  He  saw  the 
pleasure  in  her  eyes  and  felt  himself  blushing. 

From  the  window  they  watched  Bram.  He 
had  called  his  wolves  and  was  going  with  them  to 
the  gate.  He  carried  his  snowshoes  and  his  long 
whip.  He  went  through  the  gate  first  and  one 
by  one  let  his  beasts  out  until  ten  of  the  twenty 
had  followed  him.  The  gate  was  closed  then. 

Celie  turned  to  the  table  and  Philip  saw  that 
she  had  brought  from  her  room  a  pencil  and  a  bit 
of  paper.  In  a  moment  she  held  the  paper  out 
to  him,  a  light  of  triumph  in  her  face.  At  last 
they  had  found  a  way  to  talk.  On  the  paper  was 
a  crude  sketch  of  a  caribou  head.  It  meant  that 
Bram  had  gone  hunting. 

And  in  going  Bram  had  left  a  half  of  his  blood 
thirsty  pack  in  the  corral.  There  was  no  longer 
a  doubt  in  Philip's  mind.  They  were  not  the 
chance  guests  of  this  madman.  They  were  pris 
oners. 


CHAPTER  XH 

FOB  a  few  minutes  after  the  wolf -man  and  his 
hunters  had  gone  from  the  corral  Philip  did  not 
move  from  the  window.  He  almost  forgot  that 
the  girl  was  standing  behind  him.  At  no  time 
since  Pierre  Breault  had  revealed  the  golden 
snare  had  the  situation  been  more  of  an  enigma 
to  him  than  now.  Was  Bram  Johnson  actually 
mad — or  was  he  playing  a  colossal  sham?  The 
question  had  unleashed  itself  in  his  brain  with  a 
suddenness  that  had  startled  him.  Out  of  the 
past  a  voice  came  to  him  distinctly,  and  it  said, 
"A  madman  never  forgets!"  It  was  the  voice 
of  a  great  alienist,  a  good  friend  of  his,  with 
whom  he  had  discussed  the  sanity  of  a  man 
whose  crime  had  shocked  the  country.  He  knew 
that  the  words  were  true.  Once  possessed  by  an 
idea  the  madman  will  not  forget  it.  It  becomes 
an  obsession  with  him — a  part  of  his  existence. 
In  his  warped  brain  a  suspicion  never  dies.  A 
fear  will  smolder  everlastingly.  A  hatred  lives 
stoadily  on. 

in 


112  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

If  Bram  Johnson  was  mad  would  lie  play  the 
game  as  he  was  playing  it  now?  He  had  almost 
killed  Philip  for  possession  of  the  food,  that  the 
girl  might  have  the  last  crumb  of  it.  Now,  with 
out  a  sign  of  the  madman's  caution,  he  had  left 
it  all  within  his  reach  again.  A  dozen  times  the 
flaming  suspicion  in  his  eyes  had  been  replaced  by 
a  calm  and  stupid  indifference.  Was  the  suspicion 
real  and  the  stupidity  a  clever  dissimulation? 
And  if  dissimulation — why? 

He  was  positive  now  that  Bram  had  not 
harmed  the  girl  in  the  way  he  had  dreaded. 
Physical  desire  had  played  no  part  in  the  wolf- 
man  Js  possession  of  her.  Celie  had  made  him 
understand  that; — and  yet  in  Bram's  eyes  he  had 
caught  a  look  now  and  then  that  was  like  the 
dumb  worship  of  a  beast.  Only  once  had  that 
look  been  anything  different — and  that  was  when 
Celie  had  given  him  a  tress  of  her  hair.  Even 
the  suspicion  roused  in  him  then  was  gone  now, 
for  if  passion  and  desire  were  smoldering  in  the 
wolf -man's  breast  he  would  not  have  brought  a 
possible  rival  to  the  cabin,  nor  would  he  have  left 
them  alone  together. 

His  mind  worked  swiftly  as  he  stared  unseeing 
out  into  the  corral.  He  would  no  longer  play  the 
part  of  a  pawn.  Thus  far  Bram  had  held  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  113 

whip  hand.  Now  he  would  take  it  from  him  no 
matter  what  mysterious  protestation  the  girl 
might  make.  The  wolf-man  had  given  him  a 
dozen  opportunities  to  deliver  the  blow  that  would 
make  him  a  prisoner.  He  would  not  miss  the 
next. 

He  faced  Celie  with  the  gleam  of  this  determi 
nation  in  his  eyes.  She  had  been  watching  him 
intently  and  he  believed  that  she  had  guessed  a 
part  of  his  thoughts.  His  first  business  was  to 
take  advantage  of  Bram's  absence  to  search  the 
cabin.  He  tried  to  make  Celie  understand  what 
his  intentions  were  as  he  began. 

"You  may  have  done  this  yourself,"  he  told 
her.  "No  doubt  you  have.  There  probably  isn't 
a  corner  you  haven't  looked  into.  But  I  have  a 
hunch  I  may  find  something  you  missed — some 
thing  interesting." 

She  followed  him  closely.  He  began  at  each 
wall  and  went  over  it  carefully,  looking  for  pos 
sible  hiding  places.  Then  he  examined  the  floor 
for  a  loose  sapling.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour 
his  discoveries  amounted  to  nothing.  He  gave, 
an  exclamation  of  satisfaction  when  under  an  old 
blanket  in  a  dusty  corner  he  found  a  Colt  army 
revolver.  But  it  was  empty,  and  he  found  no 
cartridges.  At  last  there  was  nothing  left  to 


114  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

search  but  the  wolf -man's  bunk.  At  the  bottom 
of  this  he  found  what  gave  him  his  first  real 
thrill — three  of  the  silken  snares  made  from  Celie 
Armin's  hair. 

"We  won't  touch  them,"  he  said  after  a  mo 
ment,  replacing  the  bear  skin  that  had  covered 
them.  "It's  good  etiquette  up  here  not  to  dis 
turb  another  man's  cache  and  that's  Bram's.  I 
can't  imagine  any  one  but  a  madman  doing  that. 
And  yet " 

He  looked  suddenly  at  Celie. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  was  afraid  of  you?"  he 
asked  her.  "Is  that  why  he  doesn't  leave  even 
the  butcher-knife  in  this  shack?  Was  he  afraid 
you  might  shoot  him  in  his  sleep  if  he  left  the 
temptation  in  your  way?" 

A  commotion  among  the  wolves  drew  him  to 
the  window.  Two  of  the  beasts  were  fighting. 
While  his  back  was  turned  Celie  entered  her  room 
and  returned  a  moment  or  two  later  with  a  hand 
ful  of  loose  bits  of  paper.  The  pack  held  Philip's 
attention.  He  wondered  what  chance  he  would 
have  in  an  encounter  with  the  beasts  which  Bram 
had  left  behind  as  a  guard.  Even  if  he  killed 
Bram  or  made  him  a  prisoner  he  would  still  have 
that  horde  of  murderous  brutes  to  deal  with.  If 
he  could  in  some  way  induce  the  wolf -man  to 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  115 

bring  his  rifle  into  the  cabin  the  matter  would  be 
easy.  With  Bram  out  of  the  way  he  could  shoot 
the  wolves  one  by  one  from  the  window.  With 
out  a  weapon  their  situation  would  be  hopeless. 
The  pack — with  the  exception  of  one  huge,  gaunt 
beast  directly  under  the  window — had  swung 
around  the  end  of  the  cabin  out  of  his  vision. 
The  remaining  wolf  in  spite  of  the  excitement  of 
battle  was  gnawing  hungrily  at  a  bone.  Philip 
could  hear  the  savage  grind  of  its  powerful  jaws, 
and  all  at  once  the  thought  of  how  they  might 
work  out  their  salvation  flashed  upon  him.  They 
could  starve  the  wolves!  It  would  take  a  week, 
perhaps  ten  days,  but  with  Bram  out  of  the  way 
and  the  pack  helplessly  imprisoned  within  the 
corral  it  could  be  done.  His  first  impulse  now 
was  to  impress  on  Celie  the  necessity  of  taking 
physical  action  against  Bram. 

The  sound  of  his  own  name  turned  him  from 
the  window  with  a  sudden  thrill. 

If  the  last  few  minutes  had  inspired  an  eager 
ness  for  action  in  his  own  mind  he  saw  at  a  glance 
that  something  equally  exciting  had  possessed 
Celie  Armin.  Spread  out  on  the  table  were  the 
bits  of  paper  she  had  brought  from  her  room,  and, 
pointing  to  them,  she  again  called  him  by  name. 
That  she  was  laboring  under  a  new  and  unusual 


116  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

emotion  impressed  him  immediately.  He  could 
see  that  she  was  fighting  to  restrain  an  impulse 
to  pour  out  in  words  what  would  have  been  mean 
ingless  to  him,  and  that  she  was  telling  him  the 
bits  of  paper  were  to  take  the  place  of  voice.  For 
one  swift  moment  as  he  advanced  to  the  table  the 
papers  meant  less  to  him  than  the  fact  that  she 
had  twice  spoken  his  name.  Her  soft  lips  seemed 
to  whisper  it  again  as  she  pointed,  and  the  look 
in  her  eyes  and  the  poise  of  her  body  recalled  to 
him  vividly  the  picture  of  her  as  he  had  first  seen 
her  in  the  cabin.  He  looked  at  the  bits  of  paper. 
There  were  fifteen  or  twenty  pieces,  and  on  each 
was  sketched  a  picture. 

He  heard  a  low  catch  in  Celie's  breath  as  he 
bent  over  them,  and  his  own  pulse  quickened.  A 
glance  was  sufficient  to  show  him  that  with  the 
pictures  Celie  was  trying  to  tell  him  what  he 
wanted  to  know.  They  told  her  own  story — who 
she  was,  why  she  was  at  Bram  Johnson's  cabin, 
and  how  she  had  come.  This,  at  least,  was  the 
first  thought  that  impressed  him.  He  observed 
then  that  the  bits  of  paper  were  soiled  and  worn 
as  though  they  had  been  handled  a  great  deal. 
He  made  no  effort  to  restrain  the  exclamation 
that  followed  this  discovery. 

"You  drew  these  pictures  for  Brain,"  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  117 

scanning  them  more  carefully.  "That  settles 
one  thing.  Bram  doesn't  know  much  more  about 
you  than  I  do.  Ships,  and  dogs,  and  men — and 
fighting — a  lot  of  fighting — and " 

His  eyes  stopped  at  one  of  the  pictures  and  his 
heart  gave  a  sudden  excited  thump.  He  picked 
up  the  bit  of  paper  which  had  evidently  been  part 
of  a  small  sack.  Slowly  he  turned  to  the  girl  and 
met  her  eyes.  She  was  trembling  in  her  eager 
ness  for  him  to  understand. 

"That  is  you/'  he  said,  tapping  the  central 
figure  in  the  sketch,  and  nodding  at  her.  "You 
— with  your  hair  down,  and  fighting  a  bunch  of 
men  who  look  as  though  they  were  about  to  beat 
your  brains  out  with  clubs !  Now — what  in  God's 
name  does  it  mean?  And  here's  a  ship  up  in  the 
corner.  That  evidently  came  first.  You  landed 
from  that  ship,  didn't  you?  From  the  ship — the 
ship — the  ship " 

"Skunnert!"  she  cried  softly,  touching  the  ship 
with  her  finger.  "Skunnert — Sibirienl" 

"Schooner— Siberia,"  translated  Philip.  "It 
sounds  mightily  like  that,  Celie.  Look  here— — " 
He  opened  his  pocket  atlas  again  at  the  map  of 
the  world.  "Where  did  you  start  from,  and 
where  did  you  come  ashore  f  If  we  can  get  at 
the  beginning  of  the  thing " 


118          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

She  had  bent  her  head  over  the  crook  of  his 
arm,  so  that  in  her  eager  scrutiny  of  the  map  his 
lips  for  a  moment  or  two  touched  the  velvety 
softness  of  her  hair.  Again  he  felt  the  exquisite 
thrill  of  her  touch,  the  throb  of  her  body  against 
him,  the  desire  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  hold 
her  there.  And  then  she  drew  back  a  little,  and 
her  finger  was  once  more  tracing  out  its  story 
on  the  map.  The  ship  had  started  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Lena  Eiver,  in  Siberia,  and  had  fol 
lowed  the  coast  to  the  blue  space  that  marked  the 
ocean  above  Alaska.  And  there  the  little  finger 
paused,  and  with  a  hopeless  gesture  Celie  inti 
mated  that  was  all  she  knew.  From  somewhere 
out  of  that  blue  patch  the  ship  had  touched  the 
American  shore.  One  after  another  she  took  up 
from  the  table  the  pieces  of  paper  that  carried  on 
the  picture-story  from  that  point.  It  was,  of 
course,  a  broken  and  disjointed  story.  But  as  it 
progressed  every  drop  of  blood  in  Philip's  body 
was  stirred  by  the  thrill  and  mystery  of  it.  Celie 
Armin  had  traveled  from  Denmark  through 
Eussia  to  the  Lena  Eiver  in  Siberia,  and  from 
there  a  ship  had  brought  her  to  the  coast  of 
North  America.  There  had  been  a  lot  of  fight 
ing,  the  significance  of  which  he  could  only  guess 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  119 

at;  and  now,  at  the  end,  the  girl  drew  for  Philip 
another  sketch  in  which  a  giant  and  a  horde  of 
beasts  appeared.  It  was  a  picture  of  Bram  and 
his  wolves,  and  at  last  Philip  understood  why  she 
did  not  want  him  to  harm  the  wolf -man.  Bram 
had  saved  her  from  the  fate  which  the  pictures 
only  partly  portrayed  for  him.  He  had  brought 
her  far  south  to  his  hidden  stronghold,  and  for 
some  reason  which  the  pictures  failed  to  disclose 
was  keeping  her  a  prisoner  there. 

Beyond  these  things  Celie  Armin  was  still  a 
mystery. 

Why  had  she  gone  to  Siberia?  What  had 
brought  her  to  the  barren  Arctic  coast  of  Amer 
ica?  Who  were  the  mysterious  enemies  from 
whom  Bram  the  madman  had  saved  her?  And 
who — who 

He  looked  again  at  one  of  the  pictures  which 
he  had  partly  crumpled  in  his  hand.  On  it  were 
sketched  two  people.  One  was  a  figure  with  her 
hair  streaming  down — Celie  herself.  The  other 
was  a  man.  The  girl  had  pictured  herself  close 
in  the  embrace  of  this  man's  arms.  Her  own 
arms  encircled  the  man's  neck.  From  the  pic 
ture  Philip  had  looked  at  Celie,  and  the  look  he 
had  seen  in  her  eyes  and  face  filled  his  heart  with 


120  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

a  leaden  chill.  It  was  more  than  hope  that  had 
flared  up  in  his  breast  since  he  had  entered  Bram 
Johnson's  cabin.  And  now  that  hope  went  sud 
denly  out,  and  with  its  extinguishment  he  was  op 
pressed  by  a  deep  and  gloomy  foreboding. 

He  went  slowly  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

The  next  moment  Celie  was  startled  by  the  sud 
den  sharp  cry  that  burst  from  his  lips.  Swiftly 
she  ran  to  his  side.  He  had  dropped  the  paper. 
His  hands  were  gripping  the  edge  of  the  sill,  and 
he  was  staring  like  one  who  could  not  believe  his 
own  eyes. 

'  '  Good  God— look !    Look  at  that ! ' ' 

They  had  heard  no  sound  outside  the  cabin  dur 
ing  the  last  few  minutes.  Yet  under  their  eyes, 
stretched  out  in  the  soiled  and  trampled  snow,  lay 
the  wolf  that  a  short  time  before  had  been  gnaw 
ing  a  bone.  The  animal  was  stark  dead.  Not  a 
muscle  of  its  body  moved.  Its  lips  were  drawn 
back,  its  jaws  agape,  and  under  the  head  was  a 
growing  smear  of  .blood.  It  was  not  these  things 
— not  the  fact  but  the  instrument  of  death  that 
held  Philip's  eyes.  The  huge  wolf  had  been  com 
pletely  transfixed  by  a  spear. 

Instantly  Philip  recognized  it — the  long, 
slender,  javelin-like  narwhal  harpoon  used  by 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  121 

only  one  people  in  the  world,  the  murderous  little 
black-visaged  Kogmollocks  of  Coronation  Gulf 
and  Wollaston  Land. 

He  sprang  suddenly  back  from  the  window, 
dragging  Celie  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XII! 

* '  KOGMOLLOCKS — the  blackest-Hearted  little 
devils  alive  when  it  comes  to  trading  wives  and 
fighting,"  said  Philip,  a  little  ashamed  of  the  sud 
denness  with  which  he  had  jumped  back  from  the 
window.  "  Excuse  my  abruptness,  dear.  But 
I'd  recognize  that  death- thing  on  the  other  side 
of  the  earth.  I've  seen  them  throw  it  like  an 
arrow  for  a  hundred  yards — and  I  have  a  notion 
they're  watching  that  window!" 

At  sight  of  the  dead  wolf  and  the  protruding 
javelin  Celie's  face  had  gone  as  white  as  ash. 
Snatching  up  one  of  the  pictures  from  the  table, 
she  thrust  it  into  Philip's  hand.  It  was  one  of 
the  fighting  pictures. 

"So  it's  you?"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  and  try 
ing  to  keep  the  tremble  of  excitement  out  of  his 
voice.  "It's  you  they  want,  eh?  And  they  must 
want  you  bad.  I've  never  heard  of  those  little 
devils  coming  within  a  hundred  miles  of  this  far 
south.  They  must  want  you  bad.  Now — I  won 
der  why?"  His  voice  was  calm  again.  It 

122 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  123 

thrilled  him  to  see  how  utterly  she  was  judging 
the  situation  by  the  movement  of  his  lips  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice.  With  him  unafraid  she  would 
be  unafraid.  He  judged  that  quickly.  Her  eyes 
bared  her  faith  in  him,  and  suddenly  he  reached 
out  and  took  her  face  between  his  two  hands,  and 
laughed  softly,  while  each  instant  he  feared  the 
smash  of  a  javelin  through  the  window.  "I  like 
to  see  that  look  in  your  eyes,"  he  went  on.  "And 
I'm  almost  glad  you  can't  understand  me,  for  I 
couldn't  lie  to  you  worth  a  cent.  I  understand 
those  pictures  now — and  I  think  we're  in  a  hell  of 
a  fix.  The  Eskimos  have  followed  you  and  Bram 
down  from  the  north,  and  I'm  laying  a  wager 
with  myself  that  Bram  won't  return  from  the 
caribou  hunt.  If  they  were  Nunatalmutes  or  any 
other  tribe  I  wouldn't  be  so  sure.  But  they're 
Kogmollocks.  They're  worse  than  the  little 
brown  head-hunters  of  the  Philippines  when  it 
comes  to  ambush,  and  if  Bram  hasn't  got  a  spear 
through  him  this  minute  I'll  never  guess  again !" 
He  withdrew  his  hands  from  her  face,  still 
smiling  at  her  as  he  talked.  The  color  was  re 
turning  into  her  face.  Suddenly  she  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  approach  the  window.  He  de 
tained  her,  and  in  the  same  moment  there  came 
a  fierce  and  snarling  outcry  from  the  wolves  in 


124  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

the  corral.  Making  Celie  understand  that  she 
was  to  remain  where  he  almost  forcibly  placed  her 
near  the  table,  Philip  went  again  to  the  window. 
The  pack  had  gathered  close  to  the  gate  and  two 
or  three  of  the  wolves  were  leaping  excitedly 
against  the  sapling  bars  of  their  prison.  Be 
tween  the  cabin  and  the  gate  a  second  body  lay 
in  the  snow.  Philip's  mind  leapt  to  a  swift  con 
clusion.  The  Eskimos  had  ambushed  Bram,  and 
they  believed  that  only  the  girl  was  in  the  cabin. 
Intuitively  he  guessed  how  the  superstitious  little 
brown  men  of  the  north  feared  the  madman's 
wolves.  One  by  one  they  were  picking  them  off 
with  their  javelins  from  outside  the  corral. 

As  he  looked  a  head  and  pair  of  shoulders  rose 
suddenly  above  the  top  of  the  sapling  barrier, 
an  arm  shot  out  and  he  caught  the  swift  gleam 
of  a  javelin  as  it  buried  itself  in  the  thick  of  the 
pack.  In  a  flash  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the 
javelin-thrower  had  disappeared,  and  in  that 
same  moment  Philip  heard  a  low  cry  behind  him. 
Celie  had  returned  to  the  window.  She  had  seen 
what  he  had  seen,  and  her  breath  came  suddenly 
in  a  swift  and  sobbing  excitement.  In  amaze 
ment  he  saw  that  she  was  no  longer  pale.  A 
vivid  flush  had  gathered  in  each  of  her  cheeks  and 
her  eyes  blazed  with  a  dark  fire.  One  of  her 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  125 

hands  caught  his  arm  and  her  fingers  pinched  his 
flesh.  He  stared  dumbly  for  a  moment  at  the 
strange  transformation  in  her.  He  almost  be 
lieved  that  she  wanted  to  fight — that  she  was 
ready  to  rush  out  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him 
against  their  enemies.  Scarcely  had  the  cry 
fallen  from  her  lips  when  she  turned  and  ran 
swiftly  into  her  room.  It  seemed  to  Philip  that 
she  was  not  gone  ten  seconds.  When  she  re 
turned  she  thrust  into  his  hand  a  revolver. 

It  was  a  toy  affair.  The  weight  and  size  of  the 
weapon  told  him  that  before  he  broke  It  and 
looked  at  the  caliber.  It  was  a  "  stocking "  gun 
as  they  called  those  things  in  the  service,  fully 
loaded  with  .22  caliber  shots  and  good  for  a  pos 
sible  partridge  at  fifteen  or  twenty  paces.  Under 
other  conditions  it  would  have  furnished  him  with 
considerable  amusement.  But  the  present  was 
not  yesterday  or  the  day  before.  It  was  a  mo 
ment  of  grim  necessity — and  the  tiny  weapon 
gave  him  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  was 
not  entirely  helpless  against  the  javelins.  It 
would  shoot  as  far  as  the  stockade,  and  it  might 
topple  a  man  over  if  he  hit  him  just  right.  Any 
way,  it  would  make  a  noise. 

A  noise!  The  grin  that  had  come  into  his  face 
died  out  suddenly  as  he  looked  at  Celie.  He 


126          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

wondered  if  to  her  had  come  the  thought  that  now 
flashed  upon  him — if  it  was  that  thought  that  had 
made  her  place  the  revolver  in  his  hand.  The 
blaze  of  excitement  in  her  wonderful  eyes  almost 
told  him  that  it  was.  With  Bram  gone,  the 
Eskimos  believed  she  was  alone  and  at  their  mercy 
as  soon  as  the  wolves  were  out  of  the  way.  Two 
or  three  shots  from  the  revolver — and  Philip's 
appearance  in  the  corral — would  shake  their  con 
fidence.  It  would  at  least  warn  them  that  Celie 
was  not  alone,  and  that  her  protector  was  armed. 
For  that  reason  Philip  thanked  the  Lord  that  a 
"  stocking "  gun  had  a  bark  like  the  explosion  of 
a  toy  cannon  even  if  its  bite  was  like  that  of  an 
insect. 

Cautiously  he  took  another  look  at  Brain's 
wolves.  The  last  javelin  had  transfixed  another 
of  their  number  and  the  animal  was  dragging  it 
self  toward  the  center  of  the  corral.  The  re 
maining  seven  were  a  dozen  yards  on  the  other 
side  of  the  gate  now,  leaping  and  snarling  at  the 
stockade,  and  he  knew  that  the  next  attack  would 
come  from  there.  He  sprang  to  the  door.  Celie 
was  only  a  step  behind  him  as  he  ran  out,  and 
was  close  at  his  side  when  he  peered  around  the 
end  of  the  cabin. 

"They  must  not  see  you,"  he  made  her  under- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  127 

stand.  "It  won't  do  any  good  and  when  they  see 
another  man  they  may  possibly  get  the  idea  in 
their  heads  that  you're  not  here.  There  can't  be 
many  of  them  or  they'd  make  quicker  work  of 
the  wolves.  I  should  say  not  more  than " 

"Set    Se!" 

The  warning  came  in  a  low  cry  from  Celie 's 
lips.  A  dark  head  was  appearing  slowly  above 
the  top  of  the  stockade,  and  Philip  darted  sud 
denly  out  into  the  open.  The  Eskimo  did  not  see 
him,  and  Philip  waited  until  he  was  on  the  point 
of  hurling  his  javelin  before  he  made  a  sound. 
Then  he  gave  a  roar  that  almost  split  his  throat. 
In  the  same  instant  he  began  firing.  The  crack 
of  his  pistol  and  the  ferocious  outcry  he  made 
sent  the  Eskimo  off  the  stockade  like  a  ball  hit 
by  a  club.  The  pack,  maddened  by  their  inability 
to  reach  their  enemies,  turned  like  a  flash. 
Warned  by  one  experience,  Philip  hustled  Celie 
into  the  cabin.  They  were  scarcely  over  the 
threshold  when  the  wolves  were  at  the  door. 

"We're  sure  up  against  a  nice  bunch,"  he 
laughed,  standing  for  a  moment  with  his  arm  still 
about  Celie 's  waist.  "A  regular  hell  of  a  bunch, 
little  girl!  Now  if  those  wolves  only  had  sense 
enough  to  know  that  we're  a  little  brother  and 
sister  to  Bram  we'd  be  able  to  put  up  a  fight  that 


128  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

would  be  some  circus.  Did  you  see  that  fellow 
topple  off  the  fence?  Don't  believe  I  hit  him. 
At  least  I  hope  I  didn't.  If  they  ever  find  out  the 
size  of  this  pea-shooter's  sting  they'll  sit  up  there 
like  a  row  of  crows  and  laugh  at  us.  But — what 
a  bully  noise  it  made ! " 

He  was  blissfully  unmindful  of  danger  as  he 
held  her  in  the  crook  of  his  arm,  looking  straight 
into  her  lovely  face  as  he  talked.  It  was  a  mo 
ment  of  splendid  hypocrisy.  He  knew  that  in  her 
excitement  and  the  tremendous  effort  she  was 
making  to  understand  something  of  what  he  was 
saying  that  she  was  unconscious  of  his  embrace. 
That,  and  the  joyous  thrill  of  the  situation,  sent 
the  hot  blood  into  his  face. 

"I'm  dangerously  near  to  going  the  limit,"  he 
told  her,  speaking  with  a  seriousness  that  would 
impress  her.  "I'd  fight  twenty  of  those  little 
devils  single-handed  to  know  just  how  you  'd  take 
it,  and  I'd  fight  another  dozen  to  know  who  that 
fellow  is  in  the  picture.  I'm  tempted  right  now 
to  hug  you  up  close,  and  kiss  you,  and  let  you 
know  how  I  feel.  I'd  like  to  do  that — before — ; 
anything  happens.  But  would  you  understand? 
That's  it — would  you  understand  that  I  love 
every  inch  of  you  from  the  ground  up  or  would 
you  think  I  was  just  beast?  That's  what  I'm 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  129 

afraM  of.  But  I'd  like  to  let  you  know  before  I 
have  to  put  up  the  big  figlit  for  you.  And  it's 
coming — if  they've  got  Bram.  They'll  break 
down  the  gate  to-night,  or  burn  it,  and  with  the 
wolves  out  of  the  way  they'll  rush  the  cabin. 
And  then " 

Slowly  he  drew  his  arm  from  her,  and  some 
thing  of  the  reaction  of  his  thoughts  must  have 
betrayed  itself  in  the  look  that  came  into  his  face. 

"I  guess  I've  already  pulled  off  a  rotten  deal 
on  the  other  fellow,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  win 
dow.  "That  is,  if  you  belong  to  him.  And  if 
you  didn't  why  would  you  stand  there  with  your 
arms  about  his  neck  and  he  hugging  you  up  like 
that?" 

A  few  minutes  before  he  had  crumpled  the  pic 
ture  in  his  hand  and  dropped  it  on  the  floor.  He 
picked  it  up  now  and  mechanically  smoothed  it 
out  as  he  made  his  observation  through  the  win 
dow.  The  pack  had  returned  to  the  stockade. 
By  the  aimless  manner  in  which  they  had 
scattered  he  concluded  that  for  the  time  at  least 
their  mysterious  enemies  had  drawn  away  from 
the  corral. 

Celie  had  not  moved.  She  was  watching  him 
earnestly.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  went  to  her 
with  the  picture,  that  a  new  and  anxious  question- 


130  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

ing  had  come  into  her  eyes.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
discovered  something  in  him  which  she  had  not 
observed  before,  something  which  she  was  try 
ing  to  analyze  even  as  he  approached  her.  He 
felt  for  the  first  time  a  sense  of  embarrassment. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  had  comprehended  some 
word  or  thought  of  what  he  had  expressed  to  her? 
He  could  not  believe  it.  And  yet,  a  woman's  in 
tuition 

He  held  out  the  picture.  Celie  took  it  and  for 
a  space  looked  at  it  steadily  without  raising  her 
eyes  to  meet  his.  When  she  did  look  at  him  the 
blue  in  her  eyes  was  so  wonderful  and  deep  and 
the  soul  that  looked  out  of  them  was  so  clear  to  his 
own  vision  that  the  shame  of  that  moment's  hypoc 
risy  when  he  had  stood  with  his  arm  about  her 
submerged  him  completely.  If  she  had  not 
understood  him  she  at  least  had  guessed. 

"Min  fader/'  she  said  quietly,  with  the  tip  of 
her  little  forefinger  on  the  man  in  the  picture. 
"Min  fader." 

For  a  moment  he  thought  she  had  spoken  in 
English. 

"Your — your  father?"  he  cried. 

She  nodded. 

"Oo-ee — min  fader!" 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  131 

"Thank  the  Lord,"  gasped  Philip.  And  then 
lie  suddenly  added,  "Celie,  have  you  any  more 
cartridges  for  this  pop-gun?  I  feel  like  licking 
the  worldl" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HE  tried  to  hide  his  jubilation  as  lie  talked  of 
more  cartridges.  He  forgot  Bram,  and  the 
Eskimos  waiting  outside  the  corral,  and  the  ap 
parent  hopelessness  of  their  situation.  Her 
father!  He  wanted  to  shout,  or  dance  around  the 
cabin  with  Celie  in  his  arms.  But  the  change 
that  he  had  seen  come  over  her  made  him  under 
stand  that  he  must  keep  hold  of  himself.  He 
dreaded  to  see  another  light  come  into  those 
glorious  blue  eyes  that  had  looked  at  him  with 
such  a  strange  and  questioning  earnestness  a  few 
moments  before — the  fire  of  suspicion,  perhaps 
even  of  fear  if  he  went  too  far.  He  realized  that 
he  had  betrayed  his  joy  when  she  had  said  that 
the  man  in  the  picture  was  her  father.  She 
could  not  have  missed  that.  And  he  was  not 
sorry.  For  him  there  was  an  unspeakable  thrill 
in  the  thought  that  to  a  woman,  no  matter  under 
what  sun  she  is  born,  there  is  at  least  one  emotion 
whose  understanding  needs  no  words  of  speech. 
And  as  he  had  talked  to  her,  sublimely  confident 

132 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  133 

that  she  could  not  understand  him,  she  had  read 
the  betrayal  in  his  face.  He  was  sure  of  it.  And 
so  he  talked  about  cartridges.  He  talked,  he  told 
himself  afterwards,  like  an  excited  imbecile. 

There  were  no  more  cartridges.  Celie  made 
him  understand  that.  All  they  possessed  were 
the  four  that  remained  in  the  revolver.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  this  discovery  did  not  disturb  him 
greatly.  At  close  quarters  he  would  prefer  3 
good  club  to  the  pop-gun.  Such  a  club,  in  the 
event  of  a  rush  attack  by  the  Eskimos,  was  an  im 
portant  necessity,  and  he  began  looking  about  the 
cabin  to  see  what  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  He 
thought  of  the  sapling  cross-pieces  in  Bram'a 
bunk  against  the  wall  and  tore  one  out.  It  was 
four  feet  in  length  and  as  big  around  as  his  fist 
at  one  end  while  at  the  other  it  tapered  down  so 
that  he  could  grip  it  easily  with  his  hands. 

"Now  we're  ready  for  them,"  he  said,  testing 
the  poise  and  swing  of  the  club  as  he  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  room.  "Unless  they  burn  us  out 
they'll  never  get  through  that  door.  I'm  promis 
ing  you  that — s  'elp  me  God  I  am,  Celie ! ' ' 

As  she  looked  at  him  a  flush  burned  in  her 
checks.  He  was  eager  to  fight — it  seemed  to  her 
that  he  was  almost  hoping  for  the  attack  at  the 
door.  It  made  her  splendidly  unafraid,  and  sud- 


134          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

denly  she  laughed  softly — a  nervous,  unexpected 
little  laugh  which  she  could  not  hold  back,  and 
he  turned  quickly  to  catch  the  warm  glow  in  her 
eyes.  Something  went  up  into  his  throat  as  she 
stood  there  looking  at  him  like  that.  He  had 
never  seen  any  one  quite  so  beautiful.  He 
dropped  his  club,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

" Let's  shake,  Celie,"  he  said.  "I'm  mighty 
glad  you  understand — we're  pals." 

Unhesitatingly  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  death  lurked  outside  they 
smiled  into  each  other's  eyes.  After  that  she 
went  into  her  room.  For  half  an  hour  Philip 
did  not  see  her  again. 

During  that  half  hour  he  measured  up  the  situ 
ation  more  calmly.  He  realized  that  the  exigency 
was  tremendously  serious,  and  that  until  now  he 
had  not  viewed  it  with  the  dispassionate  coolness 
that  characterized  the  service  of  the  uniform  he 
wore.  Celie  was  accountable  for  that.  He  con 
fessed  the  fact  to  himself,  not  without  a  certain 
pleasurable  satisfaction.  He  had  allowed  her 
presence,  and  his  thoughts  of  her,  to  fill  the  ad 
venture  completely  for  him,  and  as  a  result  they 
were  now  facing  an  appalling  danger.  If  he  had 
followed  his  own  judgment,  and  had  made  Bram 
Johnson  a  prisoner,  as  he  should  have  done  in  his 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  135 

line  of  duty,  matters  would  have  stood  differently. 

For  several  minutes  after  Celie  had  disap 
peared  into  her  room  he  studied  the  actions  of  the 
wolves  in  the  corral.  A  short  time  before  he  had 
considered  a  method  of  ridding  himself  of  Bram's 
watchful  beasts.  Now  he  regarded  them  as  the 
one  greatest  protection  they  possessed.  There 
were  seven  left.  He  was  confident  they  would 
give  warning  the  moment  the  Eskimos  approached 
the  stockade  again.  But  would  their  enemies  re 
turn?  The  fact  that  only  one  man  had  attacked 
the  wolves  at  a  time  was  almost  convincing  evi 
dence  that  they  were  very  few  in  number — per 
haps  only  a  scouting  party  of  three  or  four. 
Otherwise,  if  they  had  come  in  force,  they  would 
have  made  short  work  of  the  pack.  The  thought 
became  a  positive  conviction  as  he  looked  through 
the  window.  Bram  had  fallen  a  victim  to  a  single 
javelin,  and  the  scouting  party  of  Kogmollocks 
had  attempted  to  complete  their  triumph  by 
carrying  Celie  back  with  them  to  the  main  body. 
Foiled  in  this  attempt,  and  with  the  knowledge 
that  a  new  and  armed  enemy  opposed  them,  they 
were  possibly  already  on  their  way  for  reenforce- 
ments. 

If  this  were  so  there  could  be  but  one  hope — 
and  that  was  an  immediate  escape  from  the  cabin. 


136  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

And  between  the  cabin  door  and  the  freedom  of 
the  forest  were  Brain's  seven  wolves! 

A  feeling  of  disgust,  almost  of  anger,  swept  over 
him  as  he  drew  Celie's  little  revolver  from  his 
pocket  and  held  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  There 
were  four  cartridges  left.  But  what  would  they 
avail  against  that  horde  of  beasts?  They  would 
stop  them  no  more  than  so  many  pin-pricks. 
And  what  even  would  the  club  avail?  Against 
two  or  three  he  might  put  up  a  fight.  But  against 
seven 

He  cursed  Bram  under  his  breath.  It  was 
curious  that  in  that  same  instant  the  thought 
flashed  upon  him  that  the  wolf -man  might  not 
have  fallen  a  victim  to  the  Eskimos.  Was  it  not 
possible  that  the  spying  Kogmollocks  had  seen 
him  go  away  on  the  hunt,  and  had  taken  advan 
tage  of  the  opportunity  to  attack  the  cabin? 
They  had  evidently  thought  their  task  would  be 
an  easy  one.  "What  Philip  saw  through  the  win 
dow  set  his  pulse  beating  quickly  with  the  belief 
that  this  last  conjecture  was  the  true  one.  The 
world  outside  was  turning  dark.  The  sky  was 
growing  thick  and  low.  In  half  an  hour  a  storm 
would  break.  The  Eskimos  had  foreseen  that 
storm.  They  knew  that  the  trail  taken  in  their 
flight,  after  they  had  possessed  themselves  of  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  137 

girl,  would  very  soon  be  hidden  from  the  eyes  of 
Bram  and  the  keen  scent  of  his  wolves.  So  they 
had  taken  the  chance — the  chance  to  make  Celie 
their  prisoner  before  Bram  returned. 

And  why,  Philip  asked  himself,  did  these  sav 
age  little  barbarians  of  the  north  want  lierf  The 
fighting  she  had  pictured  for  him  had  not  startled 
him.  For  a  long  time  the  Kogmollocks  had  been 
making  trouble.  In  the  last  year  they  had  killed 
a  dozen  white  men  along  the  upper  coast,  includ 
ing  two  American  explorers  and  a  missionary. 
Three  patrols  had  been  sent  to  Coronation  Gulf 
and  Bathurst  Inlet  since  August.  With  the  first 
of  those  patrols,  headed  by  Olaf  Anderson,  the 
Swede,  he  had  come  within  an  ace  of  going  him 
self.  A  rumor  had  come  down  to  Churchill  just 
before  he  left  for  the  Barrens  that  Olaf 's  party 
of  five  men  had  been  wiped  out.  It  was  not  diffi 
cult  to  understand  why  the  Eskimos  had  attacked 
Celie  Armin's  father  and  those  who  had  come 
ashore  with  him  from  the  ship.  It  was  merely  a 
question  of  lust  for  white  men's  blood  and  white 
men's  plunder,  and  strangers  in  their  country 
would  naturally  be  regarded  as  easy  victims. 
The  mysterious  and  inexplicable  part  of  the 
affair  was  their  pursuit  of  the  girl.  In  this  pur 
suit  the  Kogmollocks  had  come  far  beyond  tba 


138  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

southernmost  boundary  of  their  hunting  grounds. 
Philip  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  Es 
kimos  to  know  that  in  their  veins  ran  very  little 
of  the  red-blooded  passion  of  the  white  man. 
Matehood  was  more  of  a  necessity  imposed  by  na 
ture  than  a  joy  in  their  existence,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  believe  that  even  Celie 
Armin's  beauty  had  roused  the  desire  for  pos 
session  among  them. 

His  attention  turned  to  the  gathering  of  the 
storm.  The  amazing  swiftness  with  which  the 
gray  day  was  turning  into  the  dark  gloom  of 
night  fascinated  him  and  he  almost  called  to  Celie 
that  she  might  look  upon  the  phenomenon  with 
him.  It  was  piling  in  from  the  vast  Barrens  to 
the  north  and  east  and  for  a  time  it  was  accom 
panied  by  a  stillness  that  was  oppressive.  He 
could  no  longer  distinguish  a  movement  in  the 
tops  of  the  cedars  and  banskian  pine  beyond  the 
corral.  In  the  corral  itself  he  caught  now  and 
then  the  shadowy,  flitting  movement  of  the 
wolves.  He  did  not  hear  Celie  when  she  came 
out  of  her  room.  So -intently  was  he  straining 
his  eyes  to  penetrate  the  thickening  pall  of  gloom 
that  he  was  unconscious  of  her  presence  until  she 
stood  close  at  his  side.  There  was  something  in 
the  awesome  darkening  of  the  world  that  brought 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  139 

them  closer  in  that  moment,  and  without  speaking 
Philip  found  her  hand  and  held  it  in  his  own. 
They  heard  then  a  low  whispering  sound — a 
sound  that  came  creeping  up  out  of  the  end  of 
the  world  like  a  living  thing;  a  whisper  so  vast 
that,  after  a  little,  it  seemed  to  fill  the  universe, 
growing  louder  and  louder  until  it  was  no  longer 
a  whisper  but  a  moaning,  shrieking  wail.  It  was 
appalling  as  the  first  blast  of  it  swept  over  the 
cabin.  No  other  place  in  the  world  is  there  storm 
like  the  storm  that  sweeps  over  the  Great  Barren ; 
no  other  place  in  the  world  where  storm  is  filled 
with  such  a  moaning,  shrieking  tumult  of  voice. 
It  was  not  new  to  Philip.  He  had  heard  it  when 
it  seemed  to  him  that  ten  thousand  little  children 
were  crying  under  the  rolling  and  twisting  onrush 
of  the  clouds ;  he  had  heard  it  when  it  seemed  to 
him  the  darkness  was  filled  with  an  army  of 
laughing,  shrieking  madmen — storm  out  of  which 
rose  piercing  human  shrieks  and  the  sobbing 
grief  of  women's  voices.  It  had  driven  people 
mad.  Through  the  long  dark  night  of  winter, 
when  for  five  months  they  caught  no  glimpse  of 
the  sun,  even  the  little  brown  Eskimos  went 
keskwao  and  destroyed  themselves  because  of  the 
madness  that  was  in  that  storm. 

And  now  it  swept  over  the  cabin,  and  in  Celie?gi 


140          THE  GOLDEN  SNAHE 

throat  there  rose  a  little  sob.  So  swiftly  had 
darkness  gathered  that  Philip  could  no  longer  see 
her,  except  where  her  face  made  a  pale  shadow 
in  the  gloom,  hut  he  could  feel  the  tremble  of 
her  body  against  him.  AVas  it  only  this  morning 
that  he  had  first  seen  her,  he  asked  himself? 
Was  it  not  a  long,  long  time  ago,  and  had  she  not 
in  that  time  become,  flesh  and  soul,  a  part  of  him? 
He  put  out  his  arms.  Warm  and  trembling  and 
unresisting  in  that  thick  gloom  she  lay  within 
them.  His  soul  rose  in  a  wild  ecstasy  and  rode 
on  the  wings  of  the  storm.  Closer  he  held  her 
against  his  breast,  and  he  said : 

"  No  thing  can  hurt  you,  dear.  Nothing — noth 
ing " 

It  was  a  simple  and  meaningless  thing  to  say 
— that,  and  only  that.  And  yet  he  repeated  it 
over  and  over  again,  holding  her  closer  and  closer 
until  her  heart  was  throbbing  against  his  own. 

"Nothing  can  hurt  you.  Nothing — noth 
ing " 

He  bent  his  head.  Her  face  was  turned  up  to 
him,  and  suddenly  he  was  thrilled  by  the  warm 
sweet  touch  of  her  lips.  He  kissed  her.  She  did 
not  strain  away  from  him.  He  felt — in  that 
darkness — the  wild  fire  in  her  face. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  141 

"Nothing  can  hurt  you,  nothing — nothing " 

lie  cried  almost  sobbingly  in  his  happiness. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  blast  of  the  storm  that 
rocked  the  cabin  like  the  butt  of  a  battering-ram^ 
and  in  that  same  moment  there  came  from  just 
outside  the  window  a  shrieking  cry  such  as  Philip 
had  never  heard  in  all  his  life  before.  And  fol 
lowing  the  cry  there  rose  above  the  tumult  of  the 
storm  the  howling  of  Bram  Johnson's  wolves. 


CHAPTEE  XV 

FOR  a  space  Philip  thought  that  the  cry  must 
have  come  from  Bram  Johnson  himself — that  the 
wolf -man  had  returned  in  the  pit  of  the  storm. 
Against  his  breast  Celie  had  apparently  ceased 
to  breathe.  Both  listened  for  a  repetition  of  the 
sound,  or  for  a  signal  at  the  barred  door.  It  was 
strange  that  in  that  moment  the  wind  should  di(- 
down  until  they  could  hear  the  throbbing  of  their 
own  hearts.  Celie 's  was  pounding  like  a  little 
hammer,  and  all  at  once  he  pressed  his  face  down 
against  hers  and  laughed  with  sudden  and  joy 
ous  understanding. 

"It  was  only  the  wind,  dear,"  he  said.  "I 
never  heard  anything  like  it  before — never!  It 
even  fooled  the  wolves.  Bless  your  dear  little 
heart  how  it  frightened  you !  And  it  was  enough, 
ffcoo.  Shall  we  light  some  of  Bram's  candles?" 

He  held  her  hand  as  he  groped  his  way  to  where 
lie  had  seen  Bram's  supply  of  bear-dips.  She 
held  two  of  the  candles  while  he  lighted  them  and 
their  yellow  flare  illumined  her  face  while  his  own 

142 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  143 

was  still  in  shadow.  What  he  saw  in  its  soft 
glow  and  the  shine  of  her  eyes  made  him  almost 
take  her  in  his  arms  again,  candles  and  all.  And 
then  she  turned  with  them  and  went  to  the  table. 
He  continued  to  light  candles  until  the  sputtering 
glow  of  half  a  dozen  of  them  filled  the  room.  It 
was  a  wretched  wastefulness,  but  it  was  also  a 
moment  in  which  he  felt  himself  fighting  to  get 
hold  of  himself  properly.  And  he  felt  also  the 
desire  to  be  prodigal  about  something.  When  he 
had  lighted  his  sixth  candle,  and  then  faced  Celie, 
she  was  standing  near  the  table  looking  at  him  so 
quietly  and  so  calmly  and  with  such  a  wonderful 
faith  in  her  eyes  that  he  thanked  God  devoutly 
he  had  kissed  her  only  once — just  that  once!  It 
was  a  thrilling  thought  to  know  that  she  knew  he 
loved  her.  There  was  no  doubt  of  it  now.  And 
the  thought  of  what  he  might  have  done  in  that 
darkness  and  in  the  moment  of  her  helplessness 
sickened  him.  He  could  look  her  straight  in  the 
eyes  now — unashamed  and  glad.  And  she  was 
unashamed,  even  if  a  little  flushed  at  what  had 
happened.  The  same  thought  was  in  their  minds 
— and  he  knew  that  she  was  not  sorry.  Her  eyes 
and  the  quivering  tremble  of  a  smile  on  her  lips 
told  him  that.  She  had  braided  her  hair  in  that 
interval  when  she  had  gone  to  her  room,  and  the 


144  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

braid  had  fallen  over  her  breast  and  lay  there 
shimmering  softly  in  the  candle-glow.  He 
wanted  to  take  her  in  his  arms  again.  He  wanted 
to  kiss  her  on  the  mouth  and  eyes.  But  instead 
of  that  he  took  the  silken  braid  gently  in  his  two 
hands  and  crushed  it  against  his  lips. 

"I  love  you,"  he  cried  softly.    "I  love  you.'* 

He  stood  for  a  moment  or  two  with  his  head 
bowed,  the  thrill  of  her  hair  against  his  face.  It 
was  as  if  he  was  receiving  some  kind  of  a  won 
derful  benediction.  And  then  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  a  little  she  spoke  to  him.  Before  he 
could  see  fully  what  was  in  her  eyes  she  turned 
suddenly  to  the  wall,  took  down  his  coat,  and 
hung  it  over  the  window.  When  he  saw  her  face 
again  it  was  gloriously  flushed.  She  pointed  to 
the  candles. 

"No  danger  of  that,"  he  said,  comprehending 
her.  "They  won't  throw  any  javelins  in  this 
storm.  Listen!" 

It  was  the  wolves  again.  In  a  moment  their 
cry  was  drowned  in  a  crash  of  the  storm  that 
emote  the  cabin  like  a  huge  hand.  Again  it  was 
wailing  over  them  in  a  wild  orgy  of  almost  human 
tumult.  He  could  see  its  swift  effect  on  Celie  in 
spite  of  her  splendid  courage.  It  was  not  like  the 
surge  of  mere  wind  or  the  roll  of  thunder.  Again 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  145 

he  was  inspired  by  thought  of  his  pocket  atlas, 
and  opened  it  at  the  large  insert  map  of  Canada, 

"I'll  show  you  why  the  wind  does  that."  he 
explained  to  her,  drawing  her  to  the  table  and 
spreading  out  the  map.  "See,  here  is  the  cabin." 
He  made  a  little  black  dot  with  her  pencil,  and 
turning  to  the  four  walls  of  Brain's  stronghold 
made  her  understand  what  it  meant.  "And 
there's  the  big  Barren,"  he  went  on,  tracing  it 
out  with  the  pencil-point.  "Up  here,  you  see,  is 
the  Arctic  Ocean,  and  away  over  there  the  Eoes 
"Welcome  and  Hudson's  Bay.  That's  where  the 
storm  starts,  and  when  it  gets  out  on  the  Barren, 
without  a  tree  or  a  rock  to  break  its  way  for  five 
hundred  miles " 

He  told  of  the  twisting  air-currents  there  and 
how  the  storm-clouds  sometimes  swept  so  low 
that  they  almost  smothered  one.  For  a  few  mo 
ments  he  did  not  look  at  Celie  or  he  would  have 
seen  something  in  her  face  which  could  not  have 
been  because  of  what  he  was  telling  her,  and 
which  she  could  at  best  only  partly  understand. 
She  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  little  black  dot. 
That  was  the  cabin.  For  the  first  time  the  map 
told  her  where  she  was,  and  possibly  how  she  had 
arrived  there.  Straight  down  to  that  dot  from 
the  blue  space  of  the  ocean  far  to  the  north  the 


146  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

map-makers  had  trailed  the  course  of  the  Copper 
mine  River.  Celie  gave  an  excited  little  cry  and 
caught  Philip's  arm,  stopping  him  short  in  his 
explanation  of  the  human  wailings  in  the  storm. 
Then  she  placed  a  forefinger  on  tke  river. 

" There — there  it  is!"  she  told  him,  as  plainly 
as  though  her  voice  was  speaking  to  him  in  his 
own  language.  "We  came  down  that  river.  The 
SJcunnert  landed  us  tnere,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Coppermine  where  it  emptied 
into  Coronation  Gulf.  "And  then  we  came 
down,  down,  down " 

He  repeated  the  name  of  the  river. 

"Tine  Coppermine." 

She  nodded,  her  breath  breaking  a  little  in  an 
increasing  excitement.  She  seized  the  pencil  and 
two-thirds  of  the  distance  down  the  Coppermine 
madfc,  a  cross.  It  was  wonderful,  he  thought,  how 
easily  she  made  him  understand.  In  a  low,  eager 
voice  she  was  telling  him  that  where  she  had  put 
the  cross  the  treacherous  Kogmollocks  had  first 
attacked  them.  She  described  with  the  pencil 
their  flight  away  from  the  river,  and  after  that 
their  return — and  a  second  fight.  It  was  then 
Bram  Johnson  had  come  into  the  scene.  And 
back  there,  at  the  point  from  which  the  wolf -man 
had  fled  with  her,  was  her  father.  That  was  the 


THE  GOLDEN  SNAKE  147 

chief  thing  she  was  striving  to  drive  home  in  his 
comprehension  of  the  situation.  Her  father! 
And  she  believed  he  was  alive,  for  it  was  an  ex 
citement  instead  of  hopelessness  or  grief  that 
possessed  her  as  she  talked  to  him.  It  gave  him 
a  sort  of  shock.  He  wanted  to  tell  her,  with  his 
arms  about  her,  that  it  was  impossible,  and  that 
it  was  his  duty  to  make  her  realize  the  truth. 
Her  father  was  dead  now,  even  if  she  had  last 
seen  him  alive.  The  little  brown  men  had  got 
him,  and  had  undoubtedly  hacked  him  into  small 
pieces,  as  was  their  custom  when  inspired  by  war- 
madness.  It  was  inconceivable  to  think  of  him  as- 
still  being  alive  even  if  there  had  been  armed 
friends  with  him.  There  was  Olaf  Anderson  and 
his  five  men,  for  instance.  Fighters  every  one 
of  them.  And  now  they  were  dead.  What 
chance  could  this  other  man  have? 

Her  joy  when  she  saw  that  he  understood  her 
added  to  the  uncertainty  which  was  beginning  to 
grip  him  in  spite  of  all  that  the  day  had  meant 
for  him.  Her  faith  in  him,  since  that  thrilling 
moment  in  the  darkness,  was  more  than  ever  like 
that  of  a  child.  She  was  unafraid  of  Bram  now. 
She  was  unafraid  of  the  wolves  and  the  storm 
and  the  mysterious  pursuers  from  out  of  the 
north.  Into  his  keeping  she  had  placed  herself 


148  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

utterly,  and  while  this  knowledge  filled  him  with 
a  great  happiness  he  was  now  disturbed  by  the 
fact  that,  if  they  escaped  from  the  cabin  and  the 
Eskimos,  she  believed  he  would  return  with  her 
down  the  Coppermine  in  an  effort  to  find  her 
father.  He  had  already  made  the  plans  for  their 
escape  and  they  were  sufficiently  hazardous. 
Their  one  chance  was  to  strike  south  across  the 
thin  arm  of  the  Barren  for  Pierre  Breault's 
cabin.  To  go  in  the  opposite  direction — farther 
north  without  dogs  or  sledge — would  be  deliber 
ate  suicide. 

Several  times  during  the  afternoon  he  tried  to 
bring  himself  to  the  point  of  urging  on  her  the 
naked  truth — that  her  father  was  dead.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  that — not  the  slightest.  But 
each  time  he  fell  a  little  short.  Her  confidence 
in  the  belief  that  her  father  was  alive,  and  that 
he  was  where  she  had  marked  the  cross  on  the 
map,  puzzled  him.  Was  it  conceivable,  he  asked 
himself,  that  the  Eskimos  had  some  reason  for  not 
killing  Paul  Armin,  and  that  Celie  was  aware  of 
the  fact?  If  so  he  failed  to  discover  it.  Again 
and  again  he  made  Celie  understand  that  he 
wanted  to  know  why  the  Eskimos  wanted  her,  and 
each  time  she  answered  him  with  a  hopeless  little 
gesture,  signifying  that  she  did  not  know.  He 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  149 

did  learn  that  there  were  two  other  white  men 
with  Paul  Armin. 

Only  by  looking  at  his  watch  did  he  know  when 
the  night  closed  in.  It  was  seven  o'clock  when 
he  led  Celie  to  her  room  and  urged  her  to  go  to 
bed.  An  hour  later,  listening  at  her  door,  he  be 
lieved  that  she  was  asleep.  He  had  waited  for 
that,  and  quietly  he  prepared  for  the  hazardous 
undertaking  he  had  set  for  himself.  He  put  on 
his  cap  and  coat  and  seized  the  club  he  had  taken 
from  Bram's  bed.  Then  very  cautiously  he 
opened  the  outer  door.  A  moment  later  he  stood 
outside,  the  door  closed  behind  him,  with  the 
storm  pounding  in  his  face. 

Fifty  yards  away  he  could  not  have  heard  the 
shout  of  a  man.  And  yet  he  listened,  gripping 
his  club  hard,  every  nerve  in  his  body  strained 
to  a  snapping  tension.  Somewhere  within  that 
small  circle  of  the  corral  were  Bram  Johnson's 
wolves,  and  as  he  hesitated  with  his  back  to  the 
door  he  prayed  that  there  would  come  no  lull  in 
the  storm  during  tKe  next  few  minutes.  It  was 
possible  that  he  might  evade  them  with  the  crash 
and  thunder  of  the  gale  about  him.  They  could 
not  see  him,  or  hear  him,  or  even  smell  him  in  that 
tumult  of  wind  unless  on  his  way  to  the  gate  he 
ran  into  them.  In  that  moment  he  would  have 


150  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

given  a  year  of  life  to  have  known  where  they 
were.  Still  listening,  still  fighting  to  hear  some 
sound  of  them  in  the  shriek  of  the  storm,  he  took 
his  first  step  out  into  the  pit  of  darkness.  He 
did  not  run,  but  went  as  cautiously  as  though  the 
night  was  a  dead  calm,  the  cluh  half  poised  in  his 
hands.  He  had  measured  the  distance  and  the 
direction  of  the  gate  and  when  at  last  he  touched 
the  saplings  of  the  stockade  he  knew  that  he  could 
not  be  far  off  in  his  reckoning.  Ten  paces  to  the 
right  he  found  the  gate  and  his  heart  gave  a 
sudden  jump  of  relief.  Half  a  minute  more  and 
it  was  open.  He  propped  it  securely  against  the 
beat  of  the  storm  with  the  club  he  had  taken  from 
Bram  Johnson's  bed. 

Then  he  turned  back  to  the  cabin,  with  the  little 
revolver  clutched  in  his  hand,  and  his  face  was 
strained  and  haggard  when  he  found  the  door 
and  returned  again  into  the  glow  of  the  candle 
light.  In  the  center  of  the  room,  her  face  as 
white  as  his  own,  stood  Celie.  A  great  fear  must 
have  gripped  her,  for  she  stood  there  in  her  sleep 
ing  gown  with  her  hands  clutched  at  her  breast, 
her  eyes  staring  at  him  in  speechless  questioning. 
He  explained  by  opening  the  door  a  bit  and 
pantomiming  to  the  gate  outside  the  cabin. 

"The  wolves  will  be  gone  in  the  morning,"  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  151 

said,  a  ring  of  triumph  in  his  voice.    "I  have 
opened  the  gate.    There  is  nothing  in  our  way 


now." 


She  understood.  Her  eyes  were  a  glory  to 
look  into  then.  Her  fingers  unclenched  at  her 
breast,  she  gave  a  short,  quick  breath  and  a  little 
cry — and  her  arms  almost  reached  out  to  him. 
He  was  afraid  of  himself  as  he  went  to  her  and 
led  her  again  to  the  door  of  her  room.  And  there 
for  a  moment  they  paused,  and  she  looked  up  into 
his  face.  Her  hand  crept  from  his  and  went 
softly  to  his  shoulder.  She  said  something  to 
him,  almost  in  a  whisper,  and  he  could  no  longer 
fight  against  the  pride  and  the  joy  and  the  faith 
he  saw  in  her  eyes.  He  bent  down,  slowly  so 
that  she  might  draw  away  from  him  if  she  de 
sired,  and  kissed  her  upturned  lips.  And  then, 
with  a  strange  little  cry  that  was  like  the  soft 
note  of  a  bird,  she  turned  from  him  and  disap 
peared  into  the  darkness  of  her  room. 

A  great  deal  of  that  night's  storm  passed  over 
his  head  unheard  after  that.  It  was  late  when  he 
went  to  bed.  He  crowded  Bram's  long  box-stove 
with  wood  before  he  extinguished  the  last  candle. 

And  for  an  hour  after  that  he  lay  awake,  think 
ing  of  Celie  and  of  the  great  happiness  that  had 
come  into  his  life  all  in  one  day.  During  that 


152  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

hour  he  made  the  plans  of  a  lifetime.  Then  he, 
too,  fell  into  sleep — a  restless,  uneasy  slumber 
filled  with  many  visions.  For  a  time  there  had 
come  a  lull  in  the  gale,  but  now  it  broke  over  the 
cabin  in  increased  fury.  A  hand  seemed  slap 
ping  at  the  window,  threatening  to  break  it,  and 
a  volley  of  wind  and  snow  shot  suddenly  down 
the  chimney,  forcing  open  the  stove  door,  so  that 
a  shaft  of  ruddy  light  cut  like  a  red  knife  through 
the  dense  gloom  of  the  cabin.  In  varying  ways 
the  sounds  played  a  part  in  Philip's  dreams.  In 
all  those  dreams,  and  segments  of  dreams,  the 
girl  was  present.  It  was  strange  that  in  all  of 
them  she  should  be  his  wife.  And  it  was  strange 
that  the  big  woods  and  the  deep  snows  played  no 
part  in  them.  He  was  back  home.  And  Celie 
was  with  him.  Once  they  went  for  wildflowers 
and  were  caught  in  a  thunderstorm,  and  ran  to 
an  old  and  disused  barn  in  the  center  of  a  field 
for  shelter.  He  could  feel  Celie  trembling 
against  him,  and  he  was  stroking  her  hair  as  the 
thunder  crashed  over  them  and  the  lightning 
filled  her  eyes  with  fear.  After  that  there  came 
to  him  a  vision  of  early  autumn  nights  when  they 
went  corn-roasting,  with  other  young  people.  He 
had  always  been  afflicted  with  a  slight  nasal 
trouble,  and  smoke  irritated  him.  It  set  him 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  153 

sneezing,  and  kept  him  dodging  about  the  fire, 
and  Celie  was  laughing  as  the  smoke  persisted  in 
following  him  about,  like  a  young  scamp  of  a  boy 
bent  on  tormenting  him.  The  smoke  was  un 
usually  persistent  on  this  particular  night,  until 
at  last  the  laughter  went  out  of  the  girl's  face, 
and  she  ran  into  his  arms  and  covered  his  eyes 
with  her  soft  hands.  Restlessly  he  tossed  in  his 
bunk,  and  buried  his  face  in  the  blanket  that 
answered  for  a  pillow.  The  smoke  reached  him 
even  there,  and  he  sneezed  chokingly.  In  that 
instant  Celie 's  face  disappeared.  He  sneezed 
again — and  awoke. 

In  that  moment  his  dazed  senses  adjusted 
themselves.  The  cabin  was  full  of  smoke.  It 
partly  blinded  him,  but  through  it  he  could  see 
tongues  of  fire  shooting  toward  the  ceiling.  He 
heard  then  the  crackling  of  burning  pitch — a  dull 
and  consuming  roar,  and  with  a  stifled  cry  he 
leaped  from  his  bunk  and  stood  on  his  feet. 
Dazed  by  the  smoke  and  flame,  he  saw  that  there 
was  not  the  hundredth  part  of  a  second  to  lose. 
Shouting  Celie 's  name  he  ran  to  her  door,  where 
the  fire  was  already  beginning  to  shut  him  out. 
His  first  cry  had  awakened  her  and  she  was  fac 
ing  the  lurid  glow  of  the  flame  as  he  rushed  in. 
Almost  before  she  could  comprehend  what  was 


154  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

happening  lie  had  wrapped  one  of  the  heavy  beer 
skins  about  her  and  had  swept  her  into  his  arms. 
With  her  face  crushed  against  his  breast  he 
lowered  his  head  and  dashed  back  into  the  fiery 
holocaust  of  the  outer  room.  The  cabin,  with  its 
pitch-filled  logs,  was  like  a  box  made  of  tinder, 
and  a  score  of  men  could  not  have  beat  out  the 
fire  that  was  raging  now.  The  wind  beating 
from  the  west  had  kept  it  from  reaching  the  door 
opening  into  the  corral,  but  the  pitch  was  hissing 
and  smoking  at  the  threshold  as  Philip  plunged 
through  the  blinding  pall  and  fumbled  for  the 
latch. 

Not  ten  seconds  too  soon  did  he  stagger  with 
his  burden  out  into  the  night.  As  the  wind  drove 
in  through  the  open  door  the  flames  seemed  to 
burst  in  a  sudden  explosion  and  the  cabin  was 
a  seething  snarl  of  riame.  It  burst  through  the 
window  and  out  of  the  chimney  and  Philip's  path 
to  the  open  gate  was  illumined  by  a  fiery  glow. 
Not  until  he  had  passed  beyond  the  stockade  to 
the  edge  of  the  forest  did  he  stop  and  look  back. 
Over  their  heads  the-  wind  wailed  and  moaned 
in  the  spruce  tops,  but  even  above  that  sound 
came  the  roar  of  the  fire.  Against  his  breast 
Philip  heard  a  sobbing  cry,  and  suddenly  he  held 
the  girl  closer,  and  crushed  his  face  down  against 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  153 

hers,  fighting  to  keep  back  the  horror  that  was 
gripping  at  his  heart.  Even  as  he  felt  her  arms 
creeping  up  out  of  the  bearskin  and  clinging 
about  his  neck  he  felt  upon  him  like  a  weight  of 
lead  the  hopelessness  of  a  despair  as  black  as 
the  night  itself.  The  cabin  was  now  a  pillar  of 
flame,  and  in  it  was  everything  that  had  made 
life  possible  for  them.  Food,  shelter,  clothing — 
all  were  gone.  In  this  moment  he  did  not  think 
of  himself,  but  of  the  girl  he  held  in  his  arms, 
and  he  strained  her  closer  and  kissed  her  lips  and 
her  eyes  and  her  tumbled  hair  there  in  the  storm- 
swept  darkness,  telling  her  what  he  knew  was  now 
a  lie — that  she  was  safe,  that  nothing  could  harm 
her.  Against  him  he  felt  the  tremble  and  throb 
of  her  soft  body,  and  it  was  this  that  filled  him 
with  the  horror  of  the  thing — the  terror  of  the 
thought  that  her  one  garment  was  a  bearskin. 
He  had  felt,  a  moment  before,  the  chill  touch  of 
a  naked  little  foot. 

And  yet  he  kept  saying,  with  his  face  against 
hers : 

"It's  all  right,  little  sweetheart.  We'll  come 
out  all  right — we  sure  willl" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

His  firBt  impulse,  after  those  few  appalling 
seconds  following  their  escape  from  the  fire,  was 
to  save  something  from  the  cabin.  Still  talking 
to  Celie  he  dropped  on  his  knees  and  tucked  her 
up  warmly  in  the  bearskin,  with  her  back  to  a 
tree.  He  thanked  God  that  it  was  a  big  skin  and 
that  it  enveloped  her  completely.  Leaving  her 
there  he  ran  back  through  the  gate.  He  no 
longer  feared  the  wolves.  If  they  had  not  already 
escaped  into  the  forest  he  knew  they  would  not 
attack  him  in  that  hot  glare  of  the  one  thing  above 
all  others  they  feared — fire.  For  a  space  thought 
of  the  Eskimos,  and  the  probability  of  the  fire 
bringing  them  from  wherever  they  had  sought 
shelter  from  the  storm,  was  secondary  to  the 
alarming  necessity  which  faced  him.  Because  of 
his  restlessness  and  his  desire  to  be  ready  for  any 
emergency  he  had  not  undressed  when  he  threw 
himself  on  his  bunk  that  night,  but  he  was  with 
out  a  coat  or  cap.  And  Celie!  He  cried  out 
aloud  in  his  anguish  when  he  stopped  just  outside 

156 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  157 

the  deadline  of  the  furnace  of  flame  that  was  once 
the  cabin,  and  standing  there  with  clenched  hands 
he  cursed  himself  for  the  carelessness  that  had 
brought  her  face  to  face  with  a  peril  deadlier  than 
the  menace  of  the  Eskimos  or  Bram  Johnson's 
wolves.  He  alone  was  responsible.  His  indis 
cretion  in  overfilling  the  stove  had  caused  the 
fire,  and  in  that  other  moment — when  he  might 
have  snatched  up  more  than  the  bearskin — his 
ciind  had  failed  to  act. 

In  the  short  space  he  stood  there  helplessly  in 
the  red  heat  of  the  fire  the  desperateness  of  the 
situation  seared  itself  like  the  hot  flame  itself 
in  his  brain.  As  prisoners  in  Bram's  cabin, 
guarded  by  the  wolves  and  attacked  by  the 
Eskimos,  they  still  had  shelter,  food,  clothing — a 
chance  to  live,  at  least  the  chance  to  fight.  And 
now 

He  put  a  hand  to  his  bare  head  and  faced  the 
direction  of  the  storm.  With  the  dying  away  of 
the  wind  snow  had  begun  to  fall,  and  with  this 
enow  he  knew  there  would  come  a  rising  tempera 
ture.  It  was  probably  twenty  degrees  below 
zero,  and  unless  the  wind  went  down  completely 
his  ears  would  freeze  in  an  hour  or  two.  Then 
he  thought  of  the  thick  German  socks  he  wore. 
One  of  them  would  do  for  a  cap.  His  mind 


158  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

worked  swiftly  after  that.  There  was,  after  all, 
a  tremendous  thrill  in  the  thought  of  fighting  the 
odds  against  him,  and  in  the  thought  of  the  girl 
waiting  for  him  in  the  bearskin,  her  life  depend 
ing  upon  him  utterly  now.  Without  him  she 
could  not  move  from  the  tree  where  he  had  left 
her  unless  her  naked  feet  buried  themselves  in 
the  snow.  If  something  happened  to  him — she 
would  die.  Her  helplessness  filled  him  suddenly 
with  a  wild  exultation,  the  joy  of  absolute  pos 
session  that  leapt  for  an  instant  or  two  above  his 
fears.  She  was  something  more — now — than  the 
woman  he  loved.  She  was  a  little  child,  to  be 
carried  in  his  arms,  to  be  sheltered  from  the 
wind  and  the  cold  until  the  last  drop  of  blood 
had  ceased  to  flow  in  his  veins.  His  was  the 
mighty  privilege  now  to  mother  her  until  the  end 
came  for  them  both — or  some  miracle  saved  them. 
The  last  barrier  was  gone  from  between  them. 
That  he  had  met  her  only  yesterday  was  an  un 
important  incident  now.  The  world  had  changed, 
life  had  changed,  a  long  time  had  passed.  She 
belonged  to  him  as  utterly  as  the  stars  belonged 
to  the  skies.  In  his  arms  she  would  find  life — > 
or  death. 

He  was  braced  for  the  fight.    His  mind,  riding 
over  its  first  fears,  began  to  shape  itself  for 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  159 

action  even  as  he  turned  back  toward  the  edge  of 
the  forest.  Until  then  he  had  not  thought  of  the 
other  cabin — the  cabin  which  Bram  and  he  had 
passed  on  their  way  in  from  the  Barren.  His 
heart  rose  up  suddenly  in  his  throat  and  he 
wanted  to  shout.  That  cabin  was  their  salva 
tion!  It  was  not  more  than  eight  or  ten  miles 
away,  and  he  was  positive  that  he  could  find  it. 

He  ran  swiftly  through  the  increasing  circle  of 
light  made  by  the  burning  logs.  If  the  Eskimos 
had  not  gone  far  some  one  of  them  would  surely 
see  the  red  glow  of  the  fire,  and  discovery  now 
meant  death.  In  the  edge  of  the  trees,  where  the 
shadows  were  deep,  he  paused  and  looked  back. 
His  hand  fumbled  where  the  left-pocket  of  his 
coat  would  have  been,  and  as  he  listened  to  the 
crackling  of  the  flames  and  stared  into  the  heart 
of  the  red  glow  there  smote  him  with  sudden  and 
sickening  force  a  realization  of  their  deadliest 
peril.  In  that  twisting  inferno  of  burning  pitch 
was  his  coat,  and  in  the  left-hand  pocket  of  that 
coat  were  his  matches! 

Fire!  Out  there  in  the  open  a  seething,  twist 
ing  mass  of  it,  taunting  him  with  its  power, 
mocking  him  as  pitiless  as  the  mirage  mocks  a 
thirst-crazed  creature  of  the  desert.  In  an  hour 
or  two  it  would  be  gone.  He  might  keep  up  its 


160  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

embers  for  a  time — until  the  Eskimos,  or  starva 
tion,  or  still  greater  storm  put  an  end  to  it.  The 
effort,  in  any  event,  would  be  futile  in  the  end. 
Their  one  chance  lay  in  finding  the  other  cabin, 
and  reaching  it  quickly.  When  it  came  to  the 
point  of  absolute  necessity  he  could  at  least  try 
to  make  fire  as  he  had  seen  an  Indian  make  it 
once,  though  at  the  time  he  had  regarded  the 
achievement  as  a  miracle  born  of  unnumbered 
generations  of  practice. 

He  heard  the  glad  note  of  welcome  in  Celie's 
throat  when  he  returned  to  her.  She  spoke  his 
name.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  no  note 
of  fear  in  her  voice,  but  just  gladness  that  he  had 
come  back  to  her  in  that  pit  of  darkness.  He 
bent  down  and  tucked  her  snugly  in  the  big  bear 
skin  before  he  took  her  up  in  his  arms  again. 
He  held  her  so  that  her  face  was  snuggled  close 
against  his  neck,  and  he  kissed  her  soft  mouth 
again,  and  whispered  to  her  as  he  began  picking 
his  way  through  the  forest.  His  voice,  whisper 
ing,  made  her  understand  that  they  must  make 
no  sound.  She  was  tightly  imprisoned  in  the 
skin,  but  all  at  once  he  felt  one  of  her  hands  work 
its  way  out  of  the  warmth  of  it  and  lay  against 
his  cheek.  It  did  not  move  away  from  his  face. 
Out  of  her  soul  and  body  there  passed  through 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  161 

that  contact  of  her  hand  the  confession  that  made 
him  equal  to  fighting  the  world.  For  many 
minutes  after  that  neither  of  them  spoke.  The 
moan  of  the  wind  was  growing  less  and  less  in  the 
treetops,  and  once  Philip  saw  a  pale  break  where 
the  clouds  had  split  asunder  in  the  sky.  The 
storm  was  at  an  end — and  it  was  almost  dawn. 
In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  shotlike  snow  of  the 
blizzard  had  changed  to  big  soft  flakes  that 
dropped  straight  out  of  the  clouds  in  a  white  del- 
nge.  By  the  time  day  came  their  trail  would  be 
completely  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  the  Eskimos. 
Because  of  that  Philip  traveled  as  swiftly  as 
the  darkness  and  the  roughness  of  the  forest 
would  allow  him.  As  nearly  as  he  could  judge 
he  kept  due  east.  For  a  considerable  time  he  did 
not  feel  the  weight  of  the  precious  burden  in  his 
arms.  He  believed  that  they  were  at  least  half 
a  mile  from  the  burned  cabin  before  he  paused 
to  rest.  Even  then  he  spoke  to  Celie  in  a  low 
voice.  He  had  stopped  where  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree  lay  as  high  as  his  waist,  and  on  this 
he  seated  the  girl,  holding  her  there  in  the  crook 
of  his  arm.  With  his  other  hand  he  fumbled  to 
see  if  the  bearskin  protected  her  fully,  and  in  the 
Investigation  his  hand  came  in  contact  again  with 
one  of  her  bare  feet.  Celie  gave  a  little  jump. 


162  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Then  she  laughed,  and  he  made  sure  that  the 
foot  was  snug  and  warm  before  he  went  on. 

Twice  in  the  next  half  mile  he  stopped.  The 
third  time,  a  full  mile  from  the  cabin,  was  in  a 
dense  growth  of  spruce  through  the  tops  of  which 
snow  and  wind  did  not  penetrate.  Here  he  made 
a  nest  of  spruce-boughs  for  Celie,  and  they 
waited  for  the  day.  In  the  black  interval  that 
precedes  Arctic  dawn  they  listened  for  sounds 
that  might  come  to  them.  Just  once  came  the 
wailing  howl  of  one  of  Bram's  wolves,  and  twice 
Philip  fancied  that  he  heard  the  distant  cry  of 
a  human  voice.  The  second  time  Celie 's  fingers 
tightened  about  his  own  to  tell  him  that  she,  too, 
had  heard. 

A  little  later,  leaving  Celie  alone,  Philip  went 
back  to  the  edge  of  the  spruce  thicket  and  ex 
amined  closely  their  trail  where  it  had  crossed  a 
bit  of  open.  It  was  not  half  an  hour  old,  yet  the 
deluge  of  snow  had  almost  obliterated  the  signs 
of  their  passing.  His  one  hope  was  that  the 
snowfall  would  continue  for  another  hour.  By 
that  time  there  would  not  be  a  visible  track  of 
man  or  beast,  except  in  the  heart  of  the  thickets. 
But  he  knew  that  he  was  not  dealing  with  white 
men  or  Indians  now.  The  Eskimos  were  night- 
trackers  and  night-hunters.  For  five  months  out 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  163 

of  every  twelve  their  existence  depended  upon 
their  ability  to  stalk  and  kill  in  darkness.  If 
they  had  returned  to  the  burning  cabin  it  was 
possible,  even  probable,  that  they  were  close  on 
their  heels  now. 

For  a  second  time  he  found  himself  a  stout 
club.  He  waited,  listening,  and  straining  his 
eyes  to  penetrate  the  thick  gloom;  and  then,  as 
his  own  heart-beats  came  to  him  audibly,  he  felt 
creeping  over  him  a  slow  and  irresistible  fore 
boding — a  premonition  of  something  impending, 
of  a  great  danger  close  at  hand.  His  muscles 
grew  tense,  and  he  clutched  the  club,  ready  for 
action. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  seemed  to  Philip,  as  lie  stood  with  the  club 
ready  in  his  hand,  that  the  world  had  ceased  to 
breathe  in  its  anticipation  of  the  thing  for  which 
he  was  waiting — and  listening.  The  wind  had 
dropped  dead.  There  was  not  a  rustle  in  the 
tree-tops,  not  a  sound  to  break  the  stillness.  The 
silence,  so  close  after  storm,  was  an  Arctic 
phenomenon  which  did  not  astonish  him,  and  yet 
the  effect  of  it  was  almost  painfully  gripping. 
Minor  sounds  began  to  impress  themselves  on  his 
senses — the  soft  murmur  of  the  falling  snow,  his 
own  breath,  the  pounding  of  his  heart.  He  tried 
to  throw  off  the  strange  feeling  that  oppressed 
him,  but  it  was  impossible.  Out  there  in  the 
darkness  he  would  have  sworn  that  there  were 
eyes  and  ears  strained  as  his  own  were  strained. 
And  the  darkness  was  lifting.  Shadows  began 
to  disentangle  themselves  from  the  gray  chaos. 
Trees  and  bushes  took  form,  and  over  his  head 
the  last  heavy  windrows  of  clouds  shouldered 
their  way  out  of  the  sky. 

164 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  165 

Still,  as  the  twilight  of  dawn  took  the  place  of 
night,  he  did  not  move,  except  to  draw  himself  a 
little  closer  into  the  shelter  of  the  scrub  spruce 
behind  which  he  had  hidden  himself.  He  won 
dered  if  Celie  would  be  frightened  at  his  absence. 
jBut  he  could  not  compel  himself  to  go  on — or 
back.  Something  was  coming!  He  was  as  posi 
tive  of  it  as  he  was  of  the  fact  that  night  was 
giving  place  to  day.  Yet  he  could  see  nothing — 
hear  nothing.  It  was  light  enough  now  for  him 
to  see  movement  fifty  yards  away,  and  he  kept 
his  eyes  fastened  on  the  little  open  across  which 
their  trail  had  come.  If  Olaf  Anderson  the 
Swede  had  been  there  he  might  have  told  him  of 
another  night  like  this,  and  another  vigil.  For 
Olaf  had  learned  that  the  Eskimos,  like  the  wolves, 
trail  two  by  two  and  four  by  four,  and  that — 
again  like  the  wolves — they  pursue  not  on  the 
trail  but  with  the  trail  between  them. 

But  it  was  the  trail  that  Philip  watched;  and 
as  he  kept  his  vigil — that  inexplicable  mental 
undercurrent  telling  him  that  his  enemies  were 
coming — his  mind  went  back  sharply  to  the  girl  a 
hundred  yards  behind  him.  The  acuteness  of 
the  situation  sent  question  after  question  rushing 
through  his  mind,  even  as  he  gripped  his  club. 
For  her  he  was  about  to  fight.  For  her  he  was 


166  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

ready  to  kill,  and  not  afraid  to  die.  He  loved 
her.  And  yet — she  was  a  mystery.  He  had  held 
her  in  his  arms,  had  felt  her  heart  beating  against 
his  breast,  had  kissed  her  lips  and  her  eyes  and 
her  hair,  and  her  response  had  been  to  place  her 
self  utterly  within  the  shelter  of  his  arms.  She 
had  given  herself  to  him  and  he  was  possessed  of 
the  strength  of  one  about  to  fight  for  his  own. 
And  with  that  strength  the  questions  pounded 
again  in  his  head.  Who  was  she?  And  for  what 
reason  were  mysterious  enemies  coming  after  her 
through  the  gray  dawn? 

In  that  moment  he  heard  a  sound.  His  heart 
stood  suddenly  still.  He  held  his  breath.  It  was 
a  sound  almost  indistinguishable  from  the  whis 
per  of  the  air  and  the  trees  and  yet  it  smote  upon 
his  senses  like  the  detonation  of  a  thunder-clap. 
It  was  more  of  a  presence  than  a  sound.  The 
trail  was  clear.  He  could  see  to  the  far  side  of 
the  open  now,  and  there  was  no  movement.  He 
turned  his  head — slowly  and  without  movement 
of  his  body,  and  in  that  instant  a  gasp  rose  to 
his  lips,  and  died  there.  Scarcely  a  dozen  paces 
from  him  stood  a  poised  and  hooded  figure,  a 
squat,  fire-eyed  apparition  that  looked  more  like 
monster  than  man  in  that  first  glance.  Some 
thing  acted  .within  him  that  was  swifter  than 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  167 

reason — a  sub-conscious  instinct  that  works  for 
self-preservation  like  the  flash  of  powder  in  a 
pan.  It  was  this  sub-conscious  self  that  received 
the  first  photographic  impression — the  strange 
poise  of  the  hooded  creature,  the  uplifted  arm, 
the  cold,  streaky  gleam  of  something  in  the  dawn- 
light,  and  in  response  to  that  impression  Philip's 
physical  self  crumpled  down  in  the  snow  as  a 
javelin  hissed  through  the  space  where  his  head 
and  shoulders  had  been. 

So  infinitesimal  was  the  space  of  time  between 
the  throwing  of  the  javelin  and  Philip's  move 
ment  that  the  Eskimo  believed  he  had  transfixed 
his  victim.  A  scream  of  triumph  rose  in  his 
throat.  It  was  the  Kogmollock  sakootwow — the 
blood-cry,  a  single  shriek  that  split  the  air  for  a 
mile.  It  died  in  another  sort  of  cry.  From 
where  he  had  dropped  Philip  was  up  like  a  shot. 
His  club  swung  through  the  air  and  before  the 
amazed  hooded  creature  could  dart  either  to  one 
side  or  the  other  it  had  fallen  with  crushing  force. 
That  one  blow  must  have  smashed  his  shoulder 
to  a  pulp.  As  the  body  lurched  downward  an 
other  blow  caught  the  hooded  head  squarely  and 
the  beginning  of  a  second  cry  ended  in  a  sicken 
ing  grunt.  The  force  of  the  blow  carried  Philip 
half  off  his  feet,  and  before  he  could  recover  him- 


168          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

self  two  other  figures  had  rushed  upon  him  from 
out  of  the  gloom.  Their  cries  as  they  came  at 
him  were  like  the  cries  of  beasts.  Philip  had  no 
time  to  use  his  club.  From  his  unbalanced  posi 
tion  he  flung  himself  upward  and  at  the  nearest 
of  his  enemies,  saving  himself  from  the  upraised 
javelin  by  clinching.  His  fist  shot  out  and  caught 
the  Eskimo  squarely  in  the  mouth.  He  struck 
again — and  the  javelin  dropped  from  the  Kog- 
mollock's  hand.  In  that  moment,  every  vein  in 
his  body  pounding  with  the  rage  and  excitement 
of  battle,  Philip  let  out  a  yell.  The  end  of  it  was 
stifled  by  a  pair  of  furry  arms.  His  head 
snapped  back — and  he  was  down. 

A  thrill  of  horror  shot  through  him.  It  was 
the  one  unconquerable  fighting  trick  of  the 
Eskimos — that  neck  hold.  Caught  from  behind 
there  was  no  escape  from  it.  It  was  the  age-old 
sasaki-wechikun,  or  sacrifice-hold,  an  inheritance 
that  came  down  from  father  to  son — the  Arctic 
jiu-jitsu  by  which  one  Kogmollock  holds  the  vic 
tim  helpless  while  a  second  cuts  out  his  heart. 
Flat  on  his  back,  with  his  head  and  shoulders  bent 
under  him,  Philip  lay  still  for  a  single  instant. 
He  heard  the  shrill  command  of  the  Eskimo  over 
him — an  exhortation  for  the  other  to  hurry  up 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  169 

with  the  knife.  And  then,  even  as  he  heard  a 
grunting  reply,  his  hand  came  in  contact  with  the 
pocket  which  held  Celie's  little  revolver.  He 
drew  it  quickly,  cocked  it  under  his  back,  and 
twisting  his  arm  until  the  elbow- joint  cracked, 
he  fired.  It  was  a  chance  shot.  The  powder- 
flash  burned  the  murderous,  thick-lipped  face  in 
the  sealskin  hood.  There  was  no  cry,  no  sound 
that  Philip  heard.  But  the  arms  relaxed  about 
his  neck.  He  rolled  over  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 
Three  or,  four  paces  from  him  was  the  Eskimo  he 
had  struck,  crawling  toward  him  on  his  hands  and 
knees,  still  dazed  by  the  blows  he  had  received. 
In  the  snow  Philip  saw  his  club.  He  picked  it  up 
and  replaced  the  revolver  in  his  pocket.  A  single 
blow  as  the  groggy  Eskimo  staggered  to  his  feet 
and  the  fight  was  over. 

It  had  taken  perhaps  three  or  four  minutes — 
no  longer  than  that.  His  enemies  lay  in  three 
dark  and  motionless  heaps  in  the  snow.  Fate 
had  played  a  strong  hand  with  him.  Almost  by 
a  miracle  he  had  escaped  and  at  least  two  of  the 
Eskimos  were  dead. 

He  was  still  watchful,  still  guarding  against  a 
further  attack,  and  suddenly  he  whirled  to  face  a 
figure  that  brought  from  him  a  cry  of  astonish- 


170          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

ment  and  alarm.  It  was  Celie.  She  was  stand 
ing  ten  paces  from  him,  and  in  the  wild  terror 
that  had  brought  her  to  him  she  had  left  the  bear 
skin  behind.  Her  naked  feet  were  buried  in  the 
snow.  Her  arms,  partly  bared,  were  reaching 
out  to  him  in  the  gray  Arctic  dawn,  and  then 
wildly  and  moaningly  there  came  to  him 

1 '  Philip—Philip '  > 

He  sprang  to  her,  a  choking  cry  on  his  own 
lips.  This,  after  all,  was  the  last  proof— when 
she  had  thought  that  their  enemies  were  killing 
him  she  had  come  to  him.  He  was  sobbing  her 
name  like  a  boy  as  he  ran  back  with  her  in  his 
arms.  Almost  fiercely  he  wrapped  the  bearskin 
about  her  again,  and  then  crushed  her  so  closely 
in  his  arms  that  he  could  hear  her  gasping  faintly 
for  breath.  In  that  wild  and  glorious  moment 
he  listened.  A  cold  and  leaden  day  was  break 
ing  over  the  world  and  as  they  listened  their 
hearts  throbbing  against  each  other,  the  same 
sound  came  to  them  both. 

It  was  the  sakootwow — the  savage,  shrieking 
blood-cry  of  the  Kogmollocks,  a  scream  that  de 
manded  an  answer  of  the  three  hooded  creatures 
who,  a  few  minutes  before,  had  attacked  Philip 
in  tho  edge  of  the  open.  The  cry  came  from  per- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  171 

haps  a  mile  away.  And  then,  faintly,  it  was 
answered  far  to  the  west.  For  a  moment  Philip 
pressed  his  face  down  to  Celie's.  In  his  heart 
was  a  prayer,  for  he  knew  that  the  fight  had  only 
begun. 


CHAPTER  Xv;lil 

THAT  the  Eskimos  both  to  the  east  and  the  west 
;were  more  than  likely  to  come  their  way,  converg 
ing  toward  the  central  cry  that  was  now  silent, 
Philip  was  sure.  In  the  brief  interval  in  which 
he  had  to  act  he  determined  to  make  use  of  his 
fallen  enemies.  This  he  impressed  on  Celie's 
alert  mind  before  he  ran  back  to  the  scene  of  the 
fight.  He  made  no  more  than  a  swift  observa 
tion  of  the  field  in  these  first  moments — did  not 
even  look  for  weapons.  His  thought  was  entirely 
of  Celie.  The  smallest  of  the  three  forms  on  the 
snow  was  the  Kogmollock  he  had  struck  down 
with  his  club.  He  dropped  on  his  knees  and  took 
off  first  the  sealskin  laashlyk,  or  hood.  Then  he 
began  stripping  the  dead  man  of  his  other  gar 
ments.  From  the  fur  coat  to  the  caribou-skin 
moccasins  they  were  comparatively  new.  With 
them  in  his  arms  he  hurried  back  to  the  girl. 

It  was  not  a  time  for  fine  distinctions.  The 
clothes  were  a  godsend,  though  they  had  come 
from  a  dead  man's  back,  and  an  Eskimo's  at  that. 

172 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  173 

Celie  's  eyes  shone  with  joy.  It  amazed  him  more 
than  ever  to  see  how  unafraid  she  was  in  this 
hour  of  great  danger.  She  was  busy  with  the 
clothes  almost  hefore  his  back  was  turned. 

He  returned  to  the  Eskimos.  The  three  were 
dead.  It  made  him,  shudder — one  with  a  tmy 
bullet  hole  squarely  between  the  eyes,  and  the 
others  crushed  by  the  blows  of  the  club.  His 
hand  fondled  Celie 's  little  revolver — the  pea 
shooter  he  had  laughed  at.  After  all  it  had  saved 
his  life.  And  the  club 

He  did  not  examine  too  closely  there.  From 
the  man  he  had  struck  with  his  naked  fist  he  out 
fitted  himself  with  a  hood  and  temiak,  or  coat. 
In  the  temlak  there  were  no  pockets,  but  at  the 
waist  of  each  of  the  dead  men  a  narwhal  skin 
pouch  which  answered  for  all  pockets.  He  tossed 
the  three  pouches  in  a  little  heap  on  the  snow  be 
fore  he  searched  for  weapons.  He  found  two 
knives  and  half  a  dozen  of  the  murderous:  little 
javelins.  One  of  the  knives  was  still  clutched  in 
the  hand  of  the  Eskimo  who  was  creeping  up  to 
disembowel  him  when  Celie 's  revolver  saved  hinio 
He  took  this  knife  because  it  was  longer  and 
sharper  than  the  other. 

On  his  knees  he  began  to  examine  the  contents 
of  the  three  pouches.  In  each  was  the  inevitable 


174          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

roll  of  babiche,  or  caribou-skin  cord,  and  a  second 
and  smaller  waterproof  narwhal  bag  in  which 
were  the  Kogmollock  fire  materials.  There  was 
no  food.  This  fact  was  evident  proof  that  the 
Eskimos  were  in  camp  somewhere  in  the  vicinity. 
He  had  finished  his  investigation  of  the  pouches 
when,  looking  up  from  his  kneeling  posture,  he 
saw  Celie  approaching. 

In  spite  of  the  grimness  of  the  situation  he 
could  not  repress  a  smile  as  he  rose  to  greet  her. 
At  fifty  paces,  even  with  her  face  toward  him,  one 
would  easily  make  the  error  of  mistaking  her  for 
an  Eskimo,  as  the  sealskin  loashlyk  was  so  large 
that  it  almost  entirely  concealed  her  face  except 
when  one  was  very  close  to  her.  Philip's  first 
assistance  was  to  roll  back  the  front  of  the  hood. 
Then  he  pulled  her  thick  braid  out  from  under 
the  coat  and  loosed  the  shining  glory  of  her  hair 
until  it  enveloped  her  in  a  wonderful  shimmering 
mantle.  Their  enemies  could  not  mistake  her  for 
a  man  now,  even  at  a  hundred  yards.  If  they 
ran  into  an  ambuscade  she  would  at  least  be  saved 
from  the  javelins. 

Celie  scarcely  realized  what  he  was  doing. 
She  was  staring  at  the  dead  men — silent  proof  of 
the  deadly  menace  that  had  threatened  them  and 
of  the  terrific  fight  Philip  must  have  made.  A 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  175 

strange  note  rose  in  her  throat,  and  turning 
toward  him  suddenly  she  flung  herself  into  his 
arms.  Her  own  arms  encircled  his  neck,  and  for 
a  space  she  lay  shudderingly  against  his  breast, 
as  if  sobbing.  How  many  times  he  kissed  her  in 
those  moments  Philip  could  not  have  told.  It 
must  have  been  a  great  many.  He  knew  only  that 
her  arms  were  clinging  tighter  and  tighter  about 
his  neck,  and  that  she  was  whispering  his  name, 
and  that  his  hands  were  buried  in  her  soft  hair. 
He  forgot  time,  forgot  the  possible  cost  of 
precious  seconds  lost.  It  was  a  small  thing  that 
recalled  him  to  his  senses.  From  out  of  a  spruce 
top  a  handful  of  snow  fell  on  his  shoulder.  It 
startled  him  like  the  touch  of  a  strange  hand,  and 
in  another  moment  he  was  explaining  swiftly  to 
Celie  that  there  were  other  enemies  near  and  that 
they  must  lose  no  time  in  flight. 

He  fastened  one  of  the  pouches  at  his  waist, 
picked  up  his  club,  and — on  second  thought — one 
of  the  Kogmollock  javelins.  He  had  no  very 
definite  idea  of  how  he  might  use  the  latter 
weapon,  as  it  was  too  slender  to  be  of  much  avail 
as  a  spear  at  close  quarters.  At  a  dozen  paces 
he  might  possibly  throw  it  with  some  degree  of 
accuracy.  In  a  Kogmollock 's  hand  it  was  a 
deadly  weapon  at  a  hundred  paces.  With  the 


176  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

determination  to  be  at  his  side  when  the  next  fight 
came  Celie  possessed  herself  of  a  second  javelin. 
With  her  hand  in  his  Philip  set  out  then  due 
north  through  the  forest. 

It  was  in  that  direction  he  knew  the  cabin  must 
lay.  After  striking  the  edge  of  the  timber  after 
crossing  the  Barren  Bram  Johnson  had  turned 
almost  directly  south,  and  as  he  remembered  the 
last  lap  of  the  journey  Philip  was  confident  that 
not  more  than  eight  or  ten  miles  had  separated 
the  two  cabins.  He  regretted  now  his  careless 
ness  in  not  watching  Bram's  trail  more  closely 
in  that  last  hour  or  two.  His  chief  hope  of  find 
ing  the  cabin  was  in  the  discovery  of  some  land 
mark  at  the  edge  of  the  Barren.  He  recalled  dis 
tinctly  where  they  had  turned  into  the  forest,  and 
in  less  than  half  an  hour  after  that  they  had  come 
upon  the  first  cabin. 

Their  immediate  necessity  was  not  so  much  the 
finding  of  the  cabin  as  escape  from  the  Eskimos. 
Within  half  an  hour,  perhaps  even  less,  he  be 
lieved  that  other  eyes  would  know  of  the  fight  at 
the  edge  of  the  open.  It  was  inevitable.  If  the 
Kogmollocks  on  either  side  of  them  struck  the 
trail  before  it  reached  the  open  they  would  very 
soon  run  upon  the  dead,  and  if  they  came  upon 
footprints  in  the  snow  this  side  of  the  open  they 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  177 

would  back-trail  swiftly  to  learn  the  source  and 
meaning  of  the  cry  of  triumph  that  had  not  re 
peated  itself.  Celie's  little  feet,  clad  in  moc 
casins  twice  too  big  for  her,  dragged  in  the  snow 
in  a  way  that  would  leave  no  doubt  in  the  Eskimo 
mind.  As  Philip  saw  the  situation  there  was  one 
chance  for  them,  and  only  one.  They  could  not 
escape  by  means  of  strategy.  They  could  not 
hide  from  their  pursuers.  Hope  depended  en 
tirely  upon  the  number  of  their  enemies.  If 
there  were  only  three  or  four  of  them  left  they 
would  not  attack  in  the  open.  In  that  event  he 
must  watch  for  ambuscade,  and  dread  the  night. 
He  looked  down  at  Celie,  buried  in  her  furry 
coat  and  hood  and  plodding  along  courageously 
at  his  side  with  her  hand  in  his.  This  was  not  a 
time  in  which  to  question  him,  and  she  was  obey 
ing  his  guidance  with  the  faith  of  a  child.  It  was 
tremendous,  he  thought — the  most  wonderful  mo 
ment  that  had  ever  entered  into  his  life.  It  is 
this  dependence,  this  sublime  faith  and  confidence 
in  him  of  the  woman  he  loves  that  gives  to  a  man 
the  strength  of  a  giant  in  the  face  of  a  great  crisis 
and  makes  him  put  up  a  tiger's  fight  for  her.  For 
such  a  woman  a  man  must  win.  And  then  Philip 
noticed  how  tightly  Celie 's  other  hand  was  grip 
ping  the  javelin  with  which  she  had  armed  her- 


178          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

self.  She  was  ready  to  fight,  too.  The  thrill  of 
it  all  made  him  laugh,  and  her  eyes  shot  up  to  him 
suddenly,  filled  with  a  moment's  wonder  that  he 
should  be  laughing  now.  She  must  have  under 
stood,  for  the  big  hood  hid  her  face  again  almost 
instantly,  and  her  fingers  tightened  the  smallest 
bit  about  his. 

For  a  matter  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they 
traveled  as  swiftly  as  Celie  could  walk.  Philip 
was  confident  that  the  Eskimo  whose  cries  they 
had  heard  would  strike  directly  for  the  point 
whence  the  first  cry  had  come,  and  it  was  his  pur 
pose  to  cover  as  much  distance  as  possible  in  the 
first  few  minutes  that  their  enemies  might  be  be 
hind  them.  It  was  easier  to  watch  the  back  trail 
than  to  guard  against  ambuscades  ahead.  Twice 
in  that  time  he  stopped  where  they  would  be  un 
seen  and  looked  back,  and  in  advancing  he  picked 
out  the  thinnest  timber  and  evaded  whatever 
might  have  afforded  a  hiding  place  to  a  javelin- 
thrower.  They  had  progressed  another  half  mile 
when  suddenly  they  came  upon  a  snowshoe  trail 
in  the  snow. 

It  had  crossed  at  right  angles  to  their  own 
course,  and  as  Philip  bent  over  it  a  sudden  lump 
rose  into  his  throat.  The  other  Eskimos  had  not 
worn  snowshoes.  That  in  itself  had  not  sur- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  179 

prised  him,  for  the  snow  was  hard  and  easily 
traveled  in  moccasins.  The  fact  that  amazed  him 
now  was  that  the  trail  under  his  eyes  had  not  been 
made  by  Eskimo  usamuJcs.  The  tracks  were  long 
and  narrow.  The  web  imprint  in  the  snow  was 
not  that  of  the  broad  narwhal  strip,  but  the  finer 
mesh  of  babiche.  It  was  possible  that  an  Eskimo 
was  wearing  them,  but  they  were  a  white  man's 
shoes! 

And  then  he  made  another  discovery.  For  a 
dozen  paces  he  followed  in  the  trail,  allowing  six 
inches  with  each  step  he  took  as  the  snowshoe 
handicap.  Even  at  that  he  could  not  easily  cover 
the  tracks.  The  man  who  had  made  them  had 
taken  a  longer  snowshoe  stride  than  his  own  by 
at  least  nine  inches.  He  could  no  longer  keep  the 
excitement  of  his  discovery  from  Celie. 

"The  Eskimo  never  lived  who  could  make  that 
track, "  he  exclaimed.  "They  can  travel  fast 
enough  but  they're  a  bunch  of  runts  when  it 
comes  to  leg-swing.  It's  a  white  man — or 
Bram!" 

The  announcement  of  the  wolf -man's  name  and 
Philip's  gesture  toward  the  trail  drew  a  quick 
little  cry  of  understanding  from  Celie.  In  a  flash 
she  had  darted  to  the  snowshoe  tracks  and  was 
examining  them  with  eager  intensity.  Then  she 


180  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

looked  up  and  shook  her  head.  It  wasn't  Bram! 
She  pointed  to  the  tail  of  the  shoe  and  catching 
up  a  twig  broke  it  under  Philip's  eyes.  He  re 
membered  now.  The  end  of  Bram's  shoes  was 
snubbed  short  off.  There  was  no  evidence  of  that 
defect  in  the  snow.  It  was  not  Bram  who  had 
passed  that  way. 

For  a  space  he  stood  undecided.  He  knew  that 
Celie  was  watching  him — that  she  was  trying  to 
learn  something  of  the  tremendous  significance  of 
that  moment  from  his  face.  The  same  unseen 
force  that  had  compelled  him  to  wait  and  watch 
for  his  foes  a  short  time  before  seemed  urging  him 
now  to  follow  the  strange  snowshoe  trail.  Enemy 
or  friend  the  maker  of  those  tracks  would  at  least 
be  armed.  The  thought  of  what  a  rifle  and  a  few 
cartridges  would  mean  to  him  and  Celie  now 
brought  a  low  cry  of  decision  from  him,.  He 
turned  quickly  to  Celie. 

"He's  going  east — and  we  ought  to  go  north  to 
find  the  cabin,"  he  told  her,  pointing  to  the  trail. 
"But  we'll  follow  him.  I  want  his  rifle.  I  want 
it  more  than  anything  else  in  this  world,  now  that 
I've  got  you.  We '11  follow " 

If  there  had  been  a  shadow  of  hesitation  in  his 
mind  it  was  ended  in  that  moment.  From  behind 
them  there  came  a  strange  hooting  cry.  It  was 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  181 

not  a  yell  such  as  they  had  heard  before.  It  was 
a  booming  far-reaching  note  that  had  in  it  the 
intonation  of  a  drum — a  sound  that  made  one 
shiver  because  of  its  very  strangeness.  And  then, 

from  farther  west,  it  came 

"Room — Hoom — Ho-o-o-o-o-m-m-m-m " 

In  the  next  half  minute  it  seemed  to  Philip  that 
the  cry  was  answered  from  half  a  dozen  different 
quarters.  Then  again  it  came  from  directly  be 
hind  them. 

Celie  uttered  a  little  gasp  as  she  clung  to  his 
hand  again.  She  understood  as  well  as  he.  One 
of  the  Eskimos  had  discovered  the  dead  and  their 
foes  were  gathering  in  behind  them. 


CHAPTEE  XIX 

BEFORE  the  last  of  the  cries  had  died  away  Philip 
flung  far  to  one  side  of  the  trail  the  javelin  he 
carried,  and  followed  it  up  with  Celie's,  impress 
ing  on  her  that  every  ounce  of  additional  weight 
meant  a  handicap  for  them  now.  After  the  jave 
lins  went  his  club. 

"It's  going  to  be  the  biggest  race  I've  ever 
run,"  he  smiled  at  her.  "And  we've  got  to  win. 
If  we  don't " 

Celie's  eyes  were  aglow  as  she  looked  at  him. 
He  was  splendidly  calm.  There  was  no  longer  a 
trace  of  excitement  in  his  face,  and  he  was  smil 
ing  at  her  even  as  he  picked  her  up  suddenly  in 
his  arms.  The  movement  was  so  unexpected  that 
she  gave  a  little  gasp.  Then  she  found  herself 
borne  swiftly  over  the  trail.  For  a  distance  of 
a  hundred  yards  Philip  ran  with  her  before  he 
placed  her  on  her  feet  again.  In  no  better  way 
could  he  have  impressed  on  her  that  they  were 
partners  in  a  race  against  death  and  that  every 
energy  must  be  expended  in  that  race.  Scarcely 

182 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  183 

had  her  feet  touched  the  snow  than  she  was  run 
ning  at  his  side,  her  hand  clasped  in  his.  Barely 
a  second  was  lost. 

With  the  swift  directness  of  the  trained  man- 
hunter  Philip  had  measured  his  chances  of  win 
ning.  The  Eskimos,  first  of  all,  would  gather 
about  their  dead.  After  one  or  two  formalities 
they  would  join  in  a  chattering  council,  all  of 
which  meant  precious  time  for  them.  The  pur 
suit  would  be  more  or  less  cautious  because  of  the 
bullet  hole  in  the  Kogmollock's  forehead. 

If  it  had  been  possible  for  Celie  to  ask  him  just 
what  he  expected  to  gain  by  following  the  strange 
snowshoe  trail  he  would  have  had  difficulty  in 
answering.  It  was,  like  his  single  shot  with 
Celie 's  little  revolver,  a  chance  gamble  against 
big  odds.  A  number  of  possibilities  had  sug 
gested  themselves  to  him.  It  even  occurred  to 
him  that  the  man  who  was  hurrying  toward  the 
east  might  be  a  member  of  the  Eoyal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police.  Of  one  thing,  however,  he  was 
confident.  The  maker  of  the  tracks  would  not  be 
armed  with  javelins.  He  would  have  a  rifle. 
Friend  or  foe,  he  was  after  that  rifle.  The  trick 
was  to  catch  sight  of  him  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment. 

How  much  of  a  lead  the  stranger  had  was  a> 


184  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

matter  at  which  he  could  guess  with  considerable 
accuracy.  The  freshness  of  the  trail  was  only 
slightly  dimmed  by  snow,  which  was  ample  proof 
that  it  had  been  made  at  the  very  tail-end  of  the 
storm.  He  believed  that  it  was  not  more  than  an 
hour  old. 

For  a  good  two  hundred  yards  Philip  set  a  dog 
trot  pace  for  Celie,  who  ran  courageously  at  his 
side.  At  the  end  of  that  distance  he  stopped. 
Celie  was  panting  for  breath.  Her  hood  had 
slipped  back  and  her  face  was  flushed  like  a  wild- 
flower  by  her  exertion.  Her  eyes  shone  like 
stars,  and  her  lips  were  parted  a  little.  She  was 
temptingly  lovely,  but  again  Philip  lost  not  a 
second  of  unnecessary  time.  He  picked  her  up  in 
his  arms  again  and  continued  the  race.  By  using 
every  ounce  of  his  own  strength  and  endurance 
in  this  way  he  figured  that  their  progress  would 
be  at  least  a  third  faster  than  the  Eskimos  would 
follow.  The  important  question  was  how  long 
he  could  keep  up  the  pace. 

Against  his  breast  Celie  was  beginning  to 
understand  his  scheme  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  ex 
plained  it  to  her  in  words.  At  the  end  of  the 
fourth  hundred  yards  she  let  him  know  that  she 
was  ready  to  run  another  lap.  He  carried  her 
on  fifty  yards  more  before  he  placed  her  on  her 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  185 

feet.  In  this  way  they  had  gone  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  when  the  trail  turned  abruptly  from  its 
easterly  course  to  a  point  of  the  compass  due 
north.  So  sharp  was  the  turn  that  Philip  paused 
to  investigate  the  sudden  change  in  direction. 
The  stranger  had  evidently  stood  for  several 
minutes  at  this  point,  which  was  close  to  the 
blasted  stub  of  a  dead  spruce.  In  the  snow 
Philip  observed  for  the  first  time  a  number  of 
dark  brown  spots. 

"Here  is  where  he  took  a  new  bearing — and  a 
chew  of  tobacco,"  said  Philip,  more  to  himself 
than  to  Celie.  "And  there's  no  snow  in  his 
tracks.  By  George,  I  don't  believe  he's  got  more 
than  half  an  hour's  start  of  us  this  minute !" 

It  was  his  turn  to  carry  Celie  again,  and  in 
spite  of  her  protest  that  she  was  still  good  for 
another  run  he  resumed  their  pursuit  of  the 
stranger  with  her  in  his  arms.  By  her  quick 
breathing  and  the  bit  of  tenseness  that  had 
gathered  about  her  mouth  he  knew  that  the  ex 
ertion  she  had  already  been  put  to  was  having  its 
effect  on  her.  For  her  little  feet  and  slender 
body  the  big  moccasins  and  cumbersome  fur  gar 
ments  she  wore  were  a  burden  in  themselves,  even 
at  a  walk.  He  found  that  by  holding  her  higher 
in  his  arms,  with  her  own  arms  encircling  his 


186  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

shoulders,  it  was  easier  to  run  with  her  at  the 
pace  he  had  set  for  himself.  And  when  he  held 
her  in  this  way  her  hair  covered  his  breast  and 
shoulders  so  that  now  and  then  his  face  was 
smothered  in  the  velvety  sweetness  of  it.  The 
caress  of  it  and  the  thrill  of  her  arms  about  him 
spurred  him  on.  Once  he  made  three  hundred 
yards.  But  he  was  gulping  for  breath  when  he 
stopped.  That  time  Celie  compelled  him  to  let 
her  run  a  little  farther,  and  when  they  paused  she 
was  swaying  on  her  feet,  and  panting.  He 
carried  her  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  in  the 
interval  after  that.  Both  realized  what  it  meant. 
The  pace  was  telling  on  them.  The  strain  of  it 
was  in  Celie 's  eyes.  The  flower-like  flush  of  her 
first  exertion  was  gone  from  her  face.  It  was 
pale  and  a  little  haggard,  and  in  Philip's  face  she 
saw  the  beginning  of  the  things  which  she  did  not 
realize  was  betraying  itself  so  plainly  in  her  own. 
She  put  her  hands  up  to  his  cheeks,  and  smiled. 
It  was  tremendous — that  moment; — her  courage, 
her  splendid  pride  in  him,  her  manner  of  telling 
him  that  she  was  not  afraid  as  her  little  hands  lay 
against  his  face.  For  the  first  time  he  gave  way 
to  his  desire  to  hold  her  close  to  him,  and  kiss 
the  sweet  mouth  she  held  up  to  his  as  her  head 
nestled  on  his  breast. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  187 

After  a  moment  or  two  he  looked  at  his  watch. 
Since  striking  the  strange  trail  they  had  traveled 
forty  minutes.  In  that  time  they  had  covered  at 
least  three  miles,  and  were  a  good  four  miles 
from  the  scene  of  the  fight.  It  was  a  big  start. 
The  Eskimos  were  undoubtedly  a  half  that  dis 
tance  behind  them,  and  the  stranger  whom  they 
were  following  could  not  be  far  ahead. 

They  went  on  at  a  walk.  For  the  third  time 
they  came  to  a  point  in  the  trail  where  the 
stranger  had  stopped  to  make  observations.  It 
was  apparent  to  Philip  that  the  man  he  was  after 
was  not  quite  sure  of  himself.  Yet  he  did  not 
hesitate  in  the  course  due  north. 

For  half  an  hour  they  continued  in  that  direc 
tion.  Not  for  an  instant  now  did  Philip  allow 
his  caution  to  lag.  Eyes  and  ears  were  alert  for 
sound  or  movement  either  behind  or  ahead  of 
them,  and  more  and  more  frequently  he  turned  to 
scan  the  back  trail. 

They  were  at  least  five  miles  from  the  edge  of 
the  open  where  the  fight  had  occurred  when  they 
came  to  the  foot  of  a  ridge,  and  Philip's  heart 
gave  a  sudden  thump  of  hope.  He  remembered 
that  ridge.  It  was  a  curiously  formed  "  hog 
back  " — like  a  great  windrow  of  snow  piled  up 
and  frozen.  Probably  it  was  miles  in  length. 


188  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Somewhere  lie  and  Bram  had  crossed  it  soon 
after  passing  the  first  cabin.  He  had  not  tried 
to  tell  Celie  of  this  cabin.  Time  had  been  too 
precious.  But  now,  in  the  short  interval  of  rest 
he  allowed  themselves,  he  drew  a  picture  of  it  in 
the  snow  and  made  her  understand  that  it  was 
somewhere  close  to  the  ridge  and  that  it  looked 
as  though  the  stranger  was  making  for  it.  He 
half  carried  Celie  up  the  ridge  after  that.  She 
could  not  hide  from  him  that  her  feet  were 
dragging  even  at  a  walk.  Exhaustion  showed  in 
her  face,  and  once  when  she  tried  to  speak  to 
him  her  voice  broke  in  a  little  gasping  sob.  On 
the  far  side  of  the  ridge  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  carried  her  again. 

"It  can't  be  much  farther, "  he  encouraged  her. 
"We've  got  to  overtake  him  pretty  soon,  dear. 
Mighty  soon."  Her  hand  pressed  gently  against 
his  cheek,  and  he  swallowed  a  thickness  that  in 
spite  of  his  effort  gathered  in  his  throat.  During 
that  last  half  hour  a  different  look  had  come  into 
her  eyes.  It  was  there  now  as  she  lay  limply  with 
her  head  on  his  breast — a  look  of  unutterable 
tenderness,  and  of  something  else.  It  was  that 
which  brought  the  thickness  into  his  throat.  It 
was  not  fear.  It  was  the  soft  glow  of  a  great  love 
— and  of  understanding.  She  knew  that  even  he 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  189 

was  almost  at  the  end  of  his  fight.  His  endur 
ance  was  giving  out.  One  of  two  things  must 
happen  very  soon.  She  continued  to  stroke  his 
cheek  gently  until  he  placed  her  on  her  feet  again, 
and  then  she  held  one  of  his  hands  close  to  her 
breast  as  they  looked  behind  them,  and  listened. 
He  could  feel  the  soft  throbbing  of  her  heart.  If 
he  needed  greater  courage  then  it  was  given  to 
him. 

They  went  on.  And  then,  so  suddenly  that  it 
brought  a  stifled  cry  from  the  girl's  lips,  they 
came  upon  the  cabin.  It  was  not  a  hundred  yards 
from  them  when  they  first  saw  it.  It  was  no 
longer  abandoned.  A  thin  spiral  of  smoke  was 
rising  from  the  chimney.  There  was  no  sign  of 
life  other  than  that. 

For  half  a  minute  Philip  stared  at  it.  Here, 
at  last,  was  the  final  hope.  Life  or  death,  all  that 
the  world  might  hold  for  TIITTI  and  the  girl  at  his 
side,  was  in  that  cabin.  Gently  he  drew  her  so 
that  she  would  be  unseen.  And  then,  still  look 
ing  at  the  cabin,  he  drew  off  his  coat  and  dropped 
it  in  the  snow.  It  was  the  preparation  of  a  man 
about  to  fight.  The  look  of  it  was  in  his  face  and 
the  stiffening  of  his  muscles,  and  when  he  turned 
to  his  little  companion  she  was  as  white  as  the 
enow  under  her  feet. 


190          THE  GOLDEN  SNAHE 

"We're  in  time,"  he  breathed.  "You — you 
stay  here." 

She  understood.  Her  hands  clutched  at  him 
as  he  left  her.  A  gulp  rose  in  her  throat.  She 
wanted  to  call  out.  She  wanted  to  hold  him  back 
— or  go  with  him.  Yet  she  obeyed.  She  stood 
with  a  heart  that  choked  her  and  watched  him 
go.  For  she  knew,  after  all,  that  it  was  the  thing 
to  do.  Sobbingly  she  breathed  his  name.  It  was 
a  prayer.  For  she  knew  what  would  happen  in 
the  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XX 

PHILIP  came  tip  behind  the  windowless  end  o£ 
the  cabin.  He  noticed  in  passing  with  Bram  that 
on  the  opposite  side  was  a  trap-window  of  sap 
lings,  and  toward  this  he  moved  swiftly  but  with 
caution.  It  was  still  closed  when  he  came  where 
he  could  see.  But  with  his  ear  close  to  the  chinka 
he  heard  a  sound — the  movement  of  some  one  in 
side.  For  an  instant  he  looked  over  his  shoulder. 
Celie  was  standing  where  he  had  left  her.  He 
could  almost  feel  the  terrible  suspense  that  was 
in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  him. 

He  moved  around  toward  the  door.  There  was 
in  him  an  intense  desire  to  have  it  over  with 
quickly.  His  pulse  quickened  as  the  thought  grew 
in  him  that  the  maker  of  the  strange  snowshoe 
trail  might  be  a  friend  after  all.  But  how  was 
he  to  discover  that  fact?  He  had  decided  to  take 
no  chances  in  the  matter.  Ten  seconds  of  mis 
placed  faith  in  the  stranger  might  prove  fatal. 
Once  he  held  a  gun  in  his  hands  he  would  be  in 
a  position  to  wait  for  introductions  and  explana- 

191 


192  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

tions.  But  until  then,  with  their  Eskimo  enemies 
close  at  their  heels 

His  mind  did  not  finish  that  final  argument. 
The  end  of  it  smashed  upon  him  in  another  way. 
The  door  came  within  his  vision.  As  it  swung 
inward  he  could  not  at  first  see  whether  it  was 
open  or  closed.  Leaning  against  the  logs  close 
to  the  door  was  a  pair  of  long  snowshoes  and  a 
bundle  of  javelins.  A  sickening  disappointment 
swept  over  him  as  he  stared  at  the  javelins.  A 
giant  Eskimo  and  not  a  white  man  had  made  the 
trail  they  had  followed.  Their  race  against  time 
had  brought  them  straight  to  the  rendezvous  of 
their  foes — and  there  would  be  no  guns.  In  that 
moment  when  all  the  hopes  he  had  built  up 
seemed  slipping  away  from  under  him  he  could 
see  no  other  possible  significance  in  the  presence 
of  the  javelins.  Then,  for  an  instant,  he  held  his 
breath  and  sniffed  the  air  like  a  dog  getting  the 
wind.  The  cabin  door  was  open.  And  out 
through  that  door  came  the  mingling  aroma  of 
coffee  and  tobacco!  An  Eskimo  might  have 
tobacco,  or  even  tea.  But  coffee — never! 

Every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  pounded  like 
tiny  beating  fists  as  he  crossed  silently  and 
swiftly  the  short  space  between  the  corner  of  the 
cabin  and  the  open  door.  For  perhaps  half  a 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  193 

dozen  seconds  lie  closed  Ms  eyes  to  give  his  snow- 
strained  vision  an  even  chance  with  the  man  in 
the  cabin.  Then  he  looked  in. 

It  was  a  small  cabin.  It  was  possibly  not  more 
than  ten  feet  square  inside,  and  at  the  far  end  of 
it  was  a  fireplace  from  which  rose  the  chimney 
through  the  roof.  At  first  Philip  saw  nothing* 
except  the  dim  outlines  of  things.  It  was  a  mo 
ment  or  two  before  he  made  out  the  figure  of  a 
man  stooping  over  the  fire.  He  stepped  over  the 
threshold,  making  no  sound.  The  occupant  of 
the  cabin  straightened  himself  slowly,  lifting  with 
extreme  care  a  pot  of  coffee  from  the  embers.  A 
glance  at  his  broad  back  and  his  giant  stature 
told  Philip  that  he  was  not  an  Eskimo.  He 
turned.  Even  then  for  an  infinitesimal  space  he 
did  not  see  Philip  as  he  stood  fronting  the  door 
with  the  light  in  his  face.  It  was  a  white  man's 
face — a  face  almost  hidden  in  a  thick  growth  of 
beard  and  a  tangle  of  hair  that  fell  to  the 
shoulders.  Another  instant  and  he  had  seen  the 
intruder  and  stood  like  one  turned  suddenly  into 
stone. 

Philip  had  leveled  Celie's  little  revolver. 

"I  am  Philip  Baine  of  His  Majesty's  service, 
the  Royal  Mounted,"  he  said.  "Throw  up  your 
hands ! ' ' 


194          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

The  moment's  tableau  was  one  of  rigid  amaze 
ment  on  one  side,  of  waiting  tenseness  on  the 
other.  Philip  believed  that  the  shadow  of  his 
body  concealed  the  size  of  the  tiny  revolver  in  his 
hand.  Anyway  it  would  be  effective  at  that  dis 
tance,  and  he  expected  to  see  the  mysterious 
stranger's  hands  go  over  his  head  the  moment  he 
recovered  from  the  shock  that  had  apparently 
gone  with  the  command.  What  did  happen  he 
expected  least  of  all.  The  arm  holding  the  pot 
of  steaming  coffee  shot  out  and  the  boiling  deluge 
hissed  straight  at  Philip's  face.  He  ducked  to 
escape  it,  and  fired.  Before  he  could  throw  back 
the  hammer  of  the  little  single-action  weapon  for 
a  second  shot  the  stranger  was  at  him.  The  force 
of  the  attack  sent  them  both  crashing  back 
against  the  wall  of  the  cabin,  and  in  the  few  mo 
ments  that  followed  Philip  blessed  the  provi 
dential  forethought  that  had  made  him  throw  off 
his  fur  coat  and  strip  for  action.  His  antagonist 
was  not  an  ordinary  man.  A  growl  like  that  of  a 
beast  rose  in  his  throat  as  they  went  to  the  floor, 
and  in  that  death-grip  Philip  thought  of  Bram. 

More  than  once  in  watching  the  wolf -man  he 
had  planned  how  he  would  pit  himself  against  the 
giant  if  it  came  to  a  fight,  and  how  he  would  evade 
the  close  ann-to-ann  grapple  that  would  mean  de- 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  195 

feat  for  him.  And  this  man  was  Bram's  equal 
in  size  and  strength.  He  realized  with  the  swift 
judgment  of  the  trained  boxer  that  open  fighting 
and  the  evasion  of  the  other's  crushing  brute 
strength  was  his  one  hope.  On  his  knees  he  flung 
himself  backward,  and  struck  out.  The  blow 
caught  his  antagonist  squarely  in  the  face  before 
he  had  succeeded  in  getting  a  firm  clinch,  and  as 
he  bent  backward  under  the  force  of  the  blow 
Philip  exerted  every  ounce  of  his  strength,  broke 
the  other's  hold,  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

He  felt  like  uttering  a  shout  of  triumph. 
Never  had  the  thrill  of  mastery  and  of  confidence 
surged  through  him  more  hotly  than  it  did  now. 
On  his  feet  in  open  fighting  he  had  the  agility  of 
a  cat.  The  stranger  was  scarcely  on  his  feet  be 
fore  he  was  at  him  with  a  straight  shoulder  blow 
that  landed  on  the  giant's  jaw  with  crushing 
force.  It  would  have  put  an  ordinary  man  down 
in  a  limp  heap.  The  other's  weight  saved  him. 
A  second  blow  sent  him  reeling  against  the  log 
wall  like  a  sack  of  grain.  And  then  in  the  half- 
gloom  of  the  cabin  Philip  missed.  He  put  all  his 
effort  in  that  third  blow  and  as  his  clenched  fist 
shot  over  the  other's  shoulder  he  was  carried  off 
his  balance  and  found  himself  again  in  the  clutch 
of  his  enemy's  arms.  This  time  a  huge  hand 


196  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

found  his  throat.  The  other  he  blocked  with  his 
left  arm,  while  with  his  right  he  drove  in  short- 
.,  arm  jabs  against  neck  and  jaw.  Their  ineffec 
tiveness  amazed  him.  His  guard-arm  was 
broken  upward,  and  to  escape  the  certain  result 
of  two  hands  gripping  at  his  throat  he  took  a 
sudden  foot-lock  on  his  adversary,  flung  all  his 
weight  forward,  and  again  they  went  to  the  floor 
of  the  cabin. 

Neither  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  girl  standing- 
wide-eyed  and  terrified  in  the  door.  They  rolled 
almost  to  her  feet.  Full  in  the  light  she  saw  the 
battered,  bleeding  face  of  the  strange  giant,  and 
Philip's  fist  striking  it  again  and  again.  Then 
she  saw  the  giant's  two  hands,  and  why  he 
was  suffering  that  punishment.  They  were  at 
Philip's  throat — huge  hairy  hands  stained  with 
his  own  blood.  A  cry  rose  to  her  lips  and  the 
blue  in  her  eyes  darkened  with  the  fighting  fire 
of  her  ancestors.  She  darted  across  the  room  to 
the  fire.  In  an  instant  she  was  back  with  a  stick 
of  wood  in  her  hands.  Philip  saw  her  then — her 
streaming  hair  and  white  face  above  them,  and 
the  club  fell.  The  hands  at  his  throat  relaxed. 
He  swayed  to  his  feet  and  with  dazed  eyes  and 
a  weird  sort  of  laugh  opened  his  arms.  Celie  ran 
into  them.  He  felt  her  sobbing  and  panting 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  197 

against  him.  Then,  looking  down,  he  saw  that 
for  the  present  the  man  who  had  made  the 
etrange  snowshoe  trail  was  as  good  as  dead. 

The  air  he  was  taking  into  his  half  strangled 
lungs  cleared  his  head  and  he  drew  away  from 
Celie  to  begin  the  search  of  the  room.  His  eyes 
were  more  accustomed  to  the  gloom,  and  suddenly 
he  gave  a  cry  of  exultation.  Against  the  end  of 
the  mud  and  stone  fireplace  stood  a  rifle  and  over 
the  muzzle  of  this  hung  a  belt  and  holster.  In 
the  holster  was  a  revolver.  In  his  excitement  and 
joy  his  breath  was  almost  a  sob  as  he  snatched 
it  from  the  holster  and  broke  it  in  the  light  of 
the  door.  It  was  a  big  Colt  Forty-five — and 
loaded  to  the  brim.  He  showed  it  to  Celie,  and 
thrust  her  to  the  door. 

" Watch!''  he  cried,  sweeping  his  arm  to  the 
open.  "Just  two  minutes  more.  That's  all  I 
want — two  minutes — and  then — " 

He  was  counting  the  cartridges  in  the  belt  as 
he  fastened  it  about  his  waist.  There  were  at 
least  forty,  two-thirds  of  them  soft-nosed  rifle. 
The  caliber  was  .303  and  the  gun  was  a  Savage. 
It  was  modern  up  to  the  minute,  and  as  he  threw 
down  the  lever  enough  to  let  him  glimpse  inside 
the  breech  he  caught  the  glisten  of  cartridges 
ready  for  action.  He  wanted  nothing  morcu 


198  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

The  cabin  weight  have  held  his  weight  in  gold  and 
he  would  not  have  turned  toward  it. 

With  the  rifle  in  his  hands  he  ran  past  Celie  out 
into  the  day.  For  the  moment  the  excitement 
pounding  in  his  body  had  got  beyond  his  power 
of  control.  His  brain  was  running  riot  with  the 
joyous  knowledge  of  the  might  that  lay  in  his 
hands  now  and  he  felt  an  overmastering  desire  tc 
shout  his  triumph  in  the  face  of  their  enemies. 

"Come  on,  you  devils !  Come  on,  come  on,"  he 
cried.  And  then,  powerless  to  restrain  what  was 
in  him,  he  let  out  a  yell. 

From  the  door  Celie  was  staring  at  him.  A 
few  moments  before  her  face  had  been  dead 
white.  Now  a  blaze  of  color  was  surging  back 
into  her  cheeks  and  lips  and  her  eyes  shone  with 
the  glory  of  one  who  was  looking  on  more  than 
triumph.  From  her  own  heart  welled  up  a  cry, 
a  revelation  of  that  wonderful  thing  throbbing  in 
her  breast  which  must  have  reached  Philip's  ears 
had  there  not  in  that  same  instant  come  another 
sound  to  startle  them  both  into  listening  silence. 

It  was  not  far  distant.  And  it  was  unmistak 
ably  an  answer  to  Philip's  challenge. 


CHAPTER 


As  they  listened  the  cry  came  again.  This  time 
Philip  caught  in  it  a  note  that  he  had  not  detected 
before.  It  was  not  a  challenge  but  the  long- 
drawn  ma-too-ee  of  an  Eskimo  who  answers  the 
inquiring  hail  of  a  comrade. 

"He  thinks  it  is  the  man  in  the  cabin,"  ex 
claimed  Philip,  turning  to  survey  the  fringe  of 
forest  through  which  their  trail  had  come.  "If 
the  others  don't  warn  him  there's  going  to  be 
one  less  Eskimo  on  earth  in  less  than  three 
minutes!" 

Another  sound  had  drawn  Celie  back  to  the 
door.  When  she  looked  in  the  man  she  had 
stunned  with  the  club  was  moving.  Her  call 
brought  Philip,  and  placing  her  in  the  open  door 
to  keep  'watch  he  set  swiftly  to  work  to  make  sure 
of  their  prisoner.  With  the  babiche  thong  he  had 
taken  from  his  enemies  he  bound  him  hand  and 
foot.  A  shaft  of  light  fell  full  on  the  giant's  face 
and  naked  chest  where  it  had  been  laid  bare  in 
the  struggle  and  Philip  was  about  to  rise  when 

199 


200  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

a  purplish  patch  of  tattooing  caught  his  eyes.  He 
made  out  first  the  crude  picture  of  a  shark  with 
huge  gaping  jaws  struggling  under  the  weight 
of  a  ship's  anchor,  and  then,  directly  under  this 
pigment  colored  tatu,  the  almost  invisible  letters 
of  a  name.  He  made  them  out  one  by  one — 
B-l-a-Jc-e.  Before  the  surname  was  the  letter  G. 
" Blake,"  he  repeated,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"George  Blake — a  sailor — and  a  white  man!" 

Blake,  returning  to  consciousness,  mumbled  in 
coherently.  In  the  same  instant  Celie  cried  out 
excitedly  at  the  door. 

"Oo-ee,  Philip— Philip!  Se  det!  Set  Se!" 
She  drew  back  with  a  sudden  movement  and 
pointed  out  the  door.  Concealing  himself  as 
much  as  possible  from  outside  observation  Philip 
peered  forth.  Not  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty 
yards  away  a  dog  team  was  approaching.  There 
were  eight  dogs  and  instantly  he  recognized  them 
as  the  small  fox-faced  Eskimo  breed  from  the 
coast.  They  were  dragging  a  heavily  laden 
sledge  and  behind  them  came  the  driver,  a  furred 
and  hooded  figure  squat  of  stature  and  with  a 
voice  that  came  now  in  the  sharp  clacking  com 
mands  that  Philip  had  heard  in  the  company  of 
Bram  Johnson.  From  the  floor  came  a  groan, 
and  for  an  instant  Philip  turned  to  find  Blake's 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  201 

bloodshot  eyes  wide  open  and  staring  at  him. 
The  giant 's  bleeding  lips  were  gathered  in  a  snarl 
and  he  was  straining  at  the  babiche  thongs  that 
bound  him.  In  that  same  moment  Philip  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Celie.  She,  too,  was  staring — and 
at  Blake.  Her  lips  were  parted,  her  eyes  were 
big  with  amazement  and  as  she  looked  she 
clutched  her  hands  convulsively  at  her  breast  and 
uttered  a  low,  strange  cry.  For  the  first  time  she 
saw  Blake's  face  with  the  light  full  upon  it.  At 
the  sound  of  her  cry  Blake's  eyes  went  to  her, 
and  for  the  space  of  a  second  the  imprisoned 
beast  on  the  floor  and  the  girl  looking  down  on 
him  made  up  a  tableau  that  held  Philip  spellbound. 
Between  them  was  recognition — an  amazed  and 
stonelike  horror  on  the  girl's  part,  a  sudden  and 
growing  glare  of  bestial  exultation  in  the  eyes  of 
the  man. 

Suddenly  there  came  the  Eskimo's  voice  and 
the  yapping  of  dogs.  It  was  the  first  Blake  had 
heard.  He  swung  his  head  toward  the  door  with 
a  great  gasp  and  the  babiche  cut  like  whipcord 
under  the  strain  of  his  muscles.  Swift  as  a  flash 
Philip  thrust  the  muzzle  of  the  big  Colt  against 
his  prisoner's  head. 

"Make  a  sound  and  you're  a  dead  man, 
Blake!"  he  warned.  "We  need  that  team, 


202  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

and  if  you  so  much  as  whisper  during  the  next 
ten  seconds  I'll  scatter  your  brains  over  the 
floor!" 

They  could  hear  the  cold  creak  of  the  sledge- 
runners  now,  and  a  moment  later  the  patter  of 
many  feet  outside  the  door.  In  a  single  leap 
Philip  was  at  the  door.  Another  and  he  was  out 
side,  and  an  amazed  Eskimo  was  looking  into  the 
round  black  eye  of  his  revolver.  It  required  no 
common  language  to  make  him  understand  what 
was  required  of  him.  He  backed  into  the  cabin 
with  the  revolver  within  two  feet  of  his  breast. 
Celie  had  caught  up  the  rifle  and  was  standing 
guard  over  Blake  as  though  fearful  that  he  might 
snap  his  bonds.  Philip  laughed  joyously  when 
he  saw  how  quickly  she  understood  that  she  was 
to  level  the  rifle  at  the  Kogmollock's  breast  and 
hold  it  there  until  he  had  made  him  a  prisoner. 
She  was  wonderful.  She  was  panting  in  her  ex 
citement.  From  the  floor  Blake  had  noticed  that 
her  little  white  finger  was  pressing  gently  against 
the  trigger  of  the  rifle.  It  had  made  him  shudder. 
It  made  the  Eskimo  cringe  a  bit  now  as  Philip 
tied  his  hands  behind  him.  And  Philip  saw  it, 
and  his  heart  thumped.  Gelie  was  gloriously 
careless. 

It  was  over  inside  of  two  minutes,  and  with  an 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  203 

audible  sigh  of  relief  she  lowered  her  rifle.  Then 
she  leaned  it  against  the  wall  and  ran  to  Blake. 
She  was  tremendously  excited  as  she  pointed 
down  into  the  bloodstained  face  and  tried  to  ex 
plain  to  Philip  the  reason  for  that  strange  and 
thrilling  recognition  he  had  seen  between  them. 
From  her  he  looked  at  Blake.  The  look  in  the 
prisoner's  face  sent  a  cold  shiver  through  him. ; 
There  was  no  fear  in  it.  It  was  filled  with  a  deep 
and  undisguised  exultation.  Then  Blake  looked 
at  Philip,  and  laughed  outright. 

" Can't  understand  her,  eh!"  he  chuckled. 
"Well,  neither  can  I.  But  I  know  what  she's  try 
ing  to  tell  you.  Damned  funny,  ain't  it?" 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  keep  his  eyes  from 
shifting  to  the  door.  There  was  expectancy  in 
that  glance.  Then  his  glance  shot  almost  fiercely 
at  Philip. 

"So  you're  Philip  Eaine,  of  the  E.  N.  M.  P., 
oh?  Well,  you 've  got  me  guessed  out.  My  name 
is  Blake,  but  the  G  don't  stand  for  George.  If 
you'll  cut  the  cord  off'n  my  legs  so  I  can  stand 
up  or  sit  down  I'll  tell  you  something.  I  can't 
do  very  much  damage  with  my  hands  hitched 
the  way  they  are,  and  I  can't  talk  layin'  down 
cause  of  my  Adam's  apple  chokin'  me." 

Philip  seized  the  rifle  and  placed  it  again  in 


204  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Celie's  hands,  stationing  her  once  more  at  the 
door. 

" Watch — and  listen,"  he  said. 

He  cut  the  thongs  that  bound  his  prisoner's 
ankles  and  Blake  struggled  to  his  feet.  When  he 
fronted  Philip  the  big  Colt  was  covering  his 
heart. 

"Now — talk!"  commanded  Philip.  "I'm  go 
ing  to  give  you  half  a  minute  to  begin  telling  me 
what  I  want  to  know,  Blake.  You've  brought  the 
Eskimos  down.  There's  no  doubt  of  that.  What 
do  you  want  of  this  girl,  and  what  have  you  done 
with  her  people?" 

He  had  never  looked  into  the  eyes  of  a  cooler 
man  than  Blake,  whose  blood-stained  lips  curled 
in  a  sneering  smile  even  as  he  finished. 

"I  ain't  built  to  be  frightened,"  he  said,  taking 
his  time  about  it.  "I  know  your  little  games  an' 
I've  throwed  a  good  many  bluffs  of  my  own  in 
my  time.  You're  lyin'  when  you  say  you'll 
shoot,  an'  you  know  you  are.  I  may  talk  and  I 
may  not.  Before  I  make  up  my  mind  I'm  going 
to  give  you  a  bit  of  brotherly  advice.  Take  that 
team  out  there  and  hit  across  the  Barren — alone. 
Understand?  Alone.  Leave  the  girl  here.  It's 
your  one  chance  of  missing  what  happened 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  205 

He  grinned  and  shrugged  his  huge  shoulders. 

"You  mean  Anderson — Olaf  Anderson — and; 
the  others  up  at  Bathurst  Inlet  ?"  questioned 
Pkilip  chokingly. 

Blake  nodded. 

Philip  wondered  if  the  other  could  hear  the 
pounding  of  his  heart.  He  had  discovered  in  this 
moment  what  the  Department  had  been  trying  to 
learn  for  two  years.  It  was  this  man — Blake — 
who  was  the  mysterious  white  leader  of  the  Kog- 
mollocks,  and  responsible  for  the  growing  crimi 
nal  record  of  the  natives  along  Coronation  Gulf.. 
And  he  had  just  confessed  himself  the  murderer 
of  Olaf  Anderson!  His  finger  trembled  for  ani 
instant  against  the  trigger  of  his  revolver.. 
Then,  staring  into  Blake's  face,  he  slowly  lowered 
the  weapon  until  it  hung  at  his  side.  Blake's- 
eyes  gleamed  as  he  saw  what  he  thought  was  his 
triumph. 

"It's  your  one  chance, "  he  urged.  "And 
there  ain't  no  time  to  lose." 

Philip  had  judged  his  man,  and  now  he  prayed 
for  the  precious  minutes  in  which  to  play  out  his 
game.  The  Kogmollocks  who  had  taken  up  their 
trail  could  not  be  far  from  the  cabin  now. 

"Maybe  you're  right,  Blake, "  he  said  hesi 
tatingly.  "I  think,  after  her  experience  with 


206          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Bram  Johnson  that  she  is  about  willing  to  return 
to  her  father.  Where  is  he?" 

Blake  made  no  effort  to  disguise  his  eagerness. 
In  the  droop  of  Philip's  shoulder,  the  laxness  of 
the  hand  that  held  the  revolver  and  the  ohange  in 
his  voice  Blake  saw  in  his  captor  an  apparent  de 
sire  to  get  out  of  the  mess  he  was  in.  A  glimpse 
of  Celie's  frightened  face  turned  for  an  instant 
from  the  door  gave  weight  to  his  conviction. 

"He's  down  the  Coppermine — about  a  hundred 
miles.  So,  Bram  Johnson " 

His  eyes  were  a  sudden  blaze  of  fire. 

"Took  care  of  her  until  your  little  rats  way 
laid  him  on  the  trail  and  murdered  him,"  inter 
rupted  Philip.  "See  here,  Blake.  You  be 
square  with  me  and  I'll  be  square  with  you.  I 
haven't  been  able  to  understand  a  word  of  her 
lingo  and  I'm  curious  to  know  a  thing  or  two  be 
fore  I  go.  Tell  me  who  she  is,  and  why  you 
haven't  killed  her  father,  and  what  you're  going 
to  do  with  her  and  I  won't  waste  another 
minute." 

Blake  leaned  forward  until  Philip  felt  the  heat 
of  his  breath. 

"What  do  I  want  of  her?"  he  demanded 
slowly.  "Why,  if  you'd  been  five  years  without 
sight  of  a  white  woman,  an'  then  you  woke  up 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  207 

one  morning  to  meet  an  angel  like  her  on  the  trail 
two  thousand  miles  up  in  nowhere  what  would 
you  want  of  her?  I  was  stunned,  plumb  stunned, 
or  I'd  had  her  then.  And  after  that,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  devil  with  his  wolves " 

"Bram  ran  away  with  her  just  as  you  were 
about  to  get  her  into  your  hands,"  supplied 
Philip,  fighting  to  save  time.  "She  didn't  even 
know  that  you  wanted  her,  Blake,  so  far  as  I 
can  find  out.  It's  all  a  mystery  to  her.  I  don't 
believe  she's  guessed  the  truth  even  now.  How 
the  devil  did  you  do  it?  Playing  the  friend 
stunt,  eh?  And  keeping  yourself  in  the  back 
ground  while  your  Kogmollocks  did  the  work! 
Was  that  it?" 

Blake  nodded.  His  face  was  darkening  as  he 
looked  at  Philip  and  the  light  in  his  eyes  was 
changing  to  a  deep  and  steady  glare.  In  that 
moment  Philip  had  failed  to  keep  the  exultation 
out  of  his  voice.  It  shone  in  his  face.  And 
Blake  saw  it.  A  throaty  sound  rose  out  of  his 
thick  chest  and  his  lips  parted  in  a  snarl  as  there 
surged  through  him  a  realization  that  he  had  been 
tricked. 

In  that  interval  Philip  spoke. 

"If  I  never  sent  up  a  real  prayer  to  God  be 
fore  I'm  sending  it  now,  Blake,"  he  said.  "Fm 


208  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

thanking  Him  that  you  didn't  have  time  to  harm 
Celie  Armin,  an'  I'm  thanking  Him  that  Bram 
Johnson  had  a  soul  in  his  body  in  spite  of  his 
warped  brain  and  his  misshapen  carcass.  And 
now  I'm  going  to  keep  my  word.  I'm  not  going 
to  lose  another  minute.  Come!" 

"You — you  mean " 

"No,  you  haven't  guessed  it.  We're  not  going 
over  the  Barren.  We're  going  back  to  that  cabin 
on  the  Coppermine,  and  you're  going  with  us. 
And  listen  to  this,  Blake — listen  hard!  There 
may  be  fighting.  If  there  is  I  want  you  to  sort 
of  harden  yourself  to  the  fact  that  the  first  shot 
fired  is  going  straight  through  your  gizzard. 
Do  I  make  myself  clear?  I'll  shoot  you  deader 
than  a  salt  mackerel  the  instant  one  of  your  little 
murderers  shows  up  on  the  trail.  So  tell  this 
owl-faced  heathen  here  to  spread  the  glad  tidings 
when  his  brothers  come  in — and  spread  it  good, 
Quick  about  it!  I'm  not  bluffing  now." 


CHAPTER  XYTT 

IN  Philip's  eyes  Blake  saw  his  match  now. 
And  more.  For  three-quarters  of  a  minute  he 
talked  swiftly  to  the  Eskimo.  Philip  knew  that 
he  was  giving  the  Kogmollock  definite  instruc 
tions  as  to  the  manner  in  which  his  rescue  must 
be  accomplished.  But  he  knew  also  that  Blake 
would  emphasize  the  fact  that  it  must  not  be  in 
open  attack,  no  matter  how  numerous  his  fol 
lowers  might  be. 

He  hurried  Blake  through  the  door  to  the 
sledge  and  team.  The  sledge  was  heavily  laden 
with  the  meat  of  a  fresh  caribou  kill  and  from  the 
quantity  of  flesh  he  dragged  off  into  the  snow 
Philip  surmised  that  the  cabin  would  very  soon 
be  the  rendezvous  of  a  small  army  of  Eskimo. 
There  was  probably  a  thousand  pounds  of  it. 
Retaining  only  a  single  quarter  of  this  he  made 
Celie  comfortable  and  turned  his  attention  to 
Blake.  With  babiche  cord  he  re-secured  his 
prisoner  with  the  "manacle-hitch,"  which  gave 
him  free  play  of  one  hand  and  arm — his  left. 


210          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Then  he  secured  the  Eskimo's  whip  and  gave  it 
to  Blake. 

' '  Now— -drive ! "  he  commanded.  '  *  Straight  for 
the  Coppermine,  and  by  the  shortest  cut.  This 
is  as  much  your  race  as  mine  now,  Blake.  The 
moment  I  see  a  sign  of  anything  wrong  you're  a 
dead  man!" 

* '  And  you — are  a  fool ! ' '  gritted  Blake.  ' '  Good 
God,  what  a  fool!" 

' '  Drive — and  shut  up ! ' ' 

Blake  snapped  his  whip  and  gave  a  short, 
angry  command  in  Eskimo.  The  dogs  sprang 
from  their  bellies  to  their  feet  and  at  another 
command  were  off  over  the  trail.  From  the  door 
of  the  cabin  the  Eskimo's  little  eyes  shone  with 
a  watery  eagerness  as  he  watched  them  go. 
Oelie  caught  a  last  glimpse  of  him  as  she  looked 
back  and  her  hands  gripped  more  firmly  the  rifle 
which  lay  across  her  lap.  Philip  had  given  her 
the  rifle  and  it  had  piled  upon  her  a  mighty  re 
sponsibility.  He  had  meant  that  she  should  use 
at  if  the  emergency  called  for  action,  and  that  she 
was  to  especially  watch  Blake.  Her  eyes  did  not 
leave  the  outlaw's  broad  back  as  he  ran  on  a 
dozen  paces  ahead  of  the  dogs.  She  was  ready 
for  him  if  he  tried  to  escape,  and  she  would  surely 
fire.  Running  close  to  her  side  Philip  observed 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  211 

the  tight  grip  of  her  hands  on  the  weapon,  and 
saw  one  little  thumb  pinched  up  against  the 
safety  ready  for  instant  action.  He  laughed,  and 
for  a  moment  she  looked  up  at  him,  flushing  sud 
denly  when  she  saw  the  adoration  in  his  face. 

" Blake's  right— I'm  a  fool,"  he  cried  down  at 
her  in  a  low  voice  that  thrilled  with  his  worship 
of  her.  "I'm  a  fool  for  risking  you,  sweetheart. 
By  going  the  other  way  I'd  have  you  forever. 
They  wouldn't  follow  far  into  the  south,  if  at  all. 
Mebby  you  don't  realize  what  we're  doing  by 
hitting  back  to  that  father  of  yours.  Do  youf " 

She  smiled. 

"And  mebby  when  we  get  there  we'll  find  him 
dead,"  he  added.  "Dead  or  alive,  everything  is 
up  to  Blake  now  and  you  must  help  me  watch 
him." 

He  pantomimed  this  caution  by  pointing  to 
Blake  and  the  rifle.  Then  he  dropped  behind. 
Over  the  length  of  sledge  and  team  he  was  thirty 
paces  from  Blake.  At  that  distance  he  could 
drop  him  with  a  single  shot  from  the  Colt. 

They  were  following  the  trail  already  made  by 
the  meat-laden  sledge,  and  the  direction  was 
northwest.  It  was  evident  that  Blake  was  head 
ing  at  least  in  the  right  direction  and  Philip  be 
lieved  that  it  would  be  but  a  short  time  before 


212  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

they  would  strike  the  Coppermine.  Once  on  the 
frozen  surface  of  the  big  stream  that  flowed  into 
the  Arctic  and  their  immediate  peril  of  an  am 
buscade  would  be  over.  Blake  was  surely  aware 
of  that.  If  he  had  in  mind  a  plan  for  escaping 
it  must  of  necessity  take  form  before  they 
reached  the  river. 

Where  the  forest  thinned  out  and  the  edge  of 
the  Barren  crept  in  Philip  ran  at  Celie  's  side,  but 
when  the  timber  thickened  and  possible  hiding 
places  for  their  enemies  appeared  in  the  trail 
ahead  he  was  always  close  to  Blake,  with  the  big 
Colt  held  openly  in  his  hand.  At  these  times 
Celie  watched  the  back  trail.  From  her  vantage 
on  the  sledge  her  alert  eyes  took  in  every  bush 
and  thicket  to  right  and  left  of  them,  and  when 
Philip  was  near  or  behind  her  she  was  looking 
at  least  a  rifle-shot  ahead  of  Blake.  For  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  they  had  followed  the  single 
sledge  trail  when  Blake  suddenly  gave  a  com 
mand  that  stopped  the  dogs.  They  had  reached 
a  crest  which  overlooked  a  narrow  finger  of  the 
treeless  Barren  on  the  far  side  of  which,  possibly 
a  third  of  a  mile  distant,  was  a  dark  fringe  of 
spruce  timber.  Blake  pointed  toward  this  tim 
ber.  Out  of  it  was  rising  a  dark  column  of 
resinous  smoke. 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  213 

"It's  up  to  you,"  lie  said  coolly  to  Philip. 
"Our  trail  crosses  through  that  timber — and  you 
see  the  smoke.  I  imagine  there  are  about  twenty 
of  Upi's  men  there  feeding  on  caribou.  The  herd 
was  close  beyond  when  they  made  the  kill.  Now 
if  we  go  on  they're  most  likely  to  see  us,  or  their 
dogs  get  wind  of  us — and  Upi  is  a  bloodthirsty 
old  cutthroat.  I  don't  want  that  bullet  through 
my  gizzard,  so  I'm  tellin'  you." 

Far  back  in  Blake's  eyes  there  lurked  a  gleam 
which  Philip  did  not  like.  Blake  was  not  a  man 
easily  frightened,  and  yet  he  had  given  what  ap 
peared  to  be  fair  warning  to  his  enemy. 

He  came  a  step  nearer,  and  said  in  a  lower 
voice : 

"Baine,  that's  just  one  of  Upi's  crowds.  If 
you  go  on  to  the  cabin  we?re  heading  for  there'll 
be  two  hundred  fighting  men  after  you  before  the 
day  is  over,  and  they'll  get  you  whether  you  kill 
me  or  not.  You've  still  got  the  chance  I  gave 
you  back  there.  Take  it — if  you  ain't  tired  of 
life.  Give  me  the  girl — an'  you  hit  out  across 
the  Barren  with  the  team." 

"We're  going  on,"  replied  Philip,  meeting  the 
other's  gaze  steadily.  "You  know  your  little 
murderers,  Blake.  If  any  one  can  get  past  them 
without  being  seen  it's  you.  And  you've  got  to 


214  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

do  it.  I'll  kill  you  if  you  don't.  The  Eskimos 
may  get  us  after  that,  but  they  won't  harm  her 
in  your  way.  Understand?  We're  going  the 
limit  in  this  game.  And  I  figure  you're  putting 
up  the  biggest  stake.  I've  got  a  funny  sort  of 
feeling  that  you're  going  to  cash  in  before  we 
reach  the  cabin." 

For  barely  an  instant  the  mysterious  gleam  far 
back  in  Blake's  eyes  died  out.  There  was  the 
hard,  low  note  in  Philip's  voice  which  carried 
conviction  and  Blake  knew  he  was  ready  to  play 
the  hand  which  he  held.  With  a  grunt  and  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  stirred  up  the  dogs  with 
a  crack  of  his  whip  and  struck  out  at  their  head 
due  west.  During  the  next  half  hour  Philip's 
eyes  and  ears  were  ceaselessly  on  the  alert.  He 
traveled  close  to  Blake,  with  the  big  Colt  in  his 
hand,  watching  every  hummock  and  bit  of  cover 
as  they  came  to  it.  He  also  watched  Blake  and 
in  the  end  was  convinced  that  in  the  back  of  the 
outlaw's  head  was  a  sinister  scheme  in  which  he 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  spite  of  his  threats 
and  the  fact  that  they  had  successfully  got  around 
Upi's  camp.  Once  or  twice  when  their  eyes 
happened  to  meet  he  caught  in  Blake's  face  a 
contemptuous  coolness,  almost  a  sneering  exulta 
tion  which  the  other  could  not  quite  conceal.  It 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  215 

filled  him  with  a  scarcely  definable  uneasiness. 
He  was  positive  that  Blake  realized  he  would 
carry  out  his  threat  at  the  least  sign  of  treachery 
or  the  appearance  of  an  enemy,  and  yet  he  could 
not  free  himself  from  the  uncomfortable  oppres- 
sion  that  was  beginning  to  take  hold  of  him.  He 
concealed  it  from  Blake.  He  tried  to  fight  it  out 
of  himself.  Yet  it  persisted.  It  was  something 
which  seemed  to  hover  in  the  air  about  him — the 
feel  of  a  danger  which  he  could  not  see. 

And  then  Blake  suddenly  pointed  ahead  over 
an  open  plain  and  said: 

"  There  is  the  Coppermine. " 


CHAPTER  XXHI 

A  OBY  from  Celie  turned  his  gaze  from  the 
broad  white  trail  of  ice  that  was  the  Coppermine, 
and  as  he  looked  she  pointed  eagerly  toward  a 
huge  pinnacle  of  rock  that  rose  like  an  oddly 
placed  cenotaph  out  of  the  unbroken  surface  of 
the  plain. 

Blake  grunted  out  a  laugh  in  his  beard  and  his 
eyes  lit  up  with  an  unpleasant  fire  as  they  rested 
on  her  flushed  face. 

"She's  tellin'  you  that  Bram  Johnson  brought 
her  this  way,"  he  chuckled.  "Bram  was  a  fool — 
like  you!" 

He  seemed  not  to  expect  a  reply  from  Philip, 
but  urged  the  dogs  down  the  slope  into  the  plain. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  they  were  on  the  surface 
of  the  river. 

Philip  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  and  he 
found  that  same  relief  in  Celie 's  face  when  he 
dropped  back  to  her  side.  As  far  as  they  could 
see  ahead  of  them  there  was  no  forest.  The 
Coppermine  itself  seemed  to  be  swallowed  up  in 

216 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  217 

the  vast  white  emptiness  of  the  Barren.  There 
could  be  no  surprise  attack  here,  even  at  night. 
And  yet  there  was  something  in  Blake 's  face  which 
kept  alive  within  him  the  strange  premonition 
of  a  near  and  unseen  danger.  Again  and  again 
he  tried  to  shake  off  the  feeling.  He  argued  with 
himself  against  the  unreasonableness  of  the  thing 
that  had  begun  to  oppress  him.  Blake  was  in  his 
power.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  escape,  and 
the  outlaw's  life  depended  utterly  upon  his  suc 
cess  in  getting  them  safely  to  the  cabin.  It  was 
not  conceivable  to  suppose  that  Blake  would 
sacrifice  his  life  merely  that  they  might  fall  into 

the  hands  of  the  Eskimos.    And  yet 

He  watched  Blake — watched  him  more  and 
more  closely  as  they  buried  themselves  deeper  in 
that  unending  chaos  of  the  north.  And  Blake,  it 
seemed  to  him,  was  conscious  of  that  increasing 
watchfulness.  He  increased  his  speed.  Now 
and  then  Philip  heard  a  curious  chuckling  sound 
smothered  in  his  beard,  and  after  an  hour's 
travel  on  the  snow-covered  ice  of  the  river  he 
could  no  longer  dull  his  vision  to  the  fact  that 
the  farther  they  progressed  into  the  open  country 
the  more  confident  Blake  was  becoming.  He  did 
not  question  him.  He  realized  the  futility  of  at 
tempting  to  force  his  prisoner  into  conversation. 


218  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

In  that  respect  it  was  Blake  who  held  the  whip 
hand.  He  could  lie  or  tell  the  truth,  according  to 
the  humor  of  his  desire.  Blake  must  have 
guessed  this  thought  in  Philip's  mind.  They 
were  traveling  side  by  side  when  he  suddenly 
laughed.  There  was  an  unmistakable  irony  in 
his  voice  when  he  said : 

4  *  It's  funny,  Raine,  that  I  should  like  you,  ain't 
it?  A  man  who's  mauled  you,  an'  threatened  to 
kill  you!  I  guess  it's  because  I'm  so  cussed 
sorry  for  you.  You're  heading  straight  for  the 
gates  of  hell,  an'  they're  open — wide  open." 

"And  you?" 

This  time  Blake's  laugh  was  harsher. 

"I  don't  count — now,"  he  said.  "Since 
you've  made  up  your  mind  not  to  trade  me  the 
girl  for  your  life  I've  sort  of  dropped  out  of  the 
game.  I  guess  you're  thinking  I  can  hold  Upi's 
tribe  back.  Well,  I  can't — not  when  you're 
getting  this  far  up  in  their  country.  If  we  split 
the  difference,  and  you  gave  me  her,  Upi  would 
meet  me  half  way.  God,  but  you've  spoiled  a 
nice  dream!" 

"A  dream?" 

Blake  uttered  a  command  to  the  dogs. 

"Yes — more'n  that.  I've  got  an  igloo  up  there 
even  finer  than  Upi's — all  built  of  whalebone  and 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  219 

ships'  timbers.  Think  of  her  in  that,  Raine — 
with  me!  That's  the  dream  you  smashed !" 

"And  her  father — and  the  others " 

This  time  there  was  a  ferocious  undercurrent 
in  Blake's  guttural  laugh,  as  though  Philip  had 
by  accident  reminded  him  of  something  that  both 
amused  and  enraged  him. 

"Don't  you  know  how  these  Kogmollock 
heathen  look  on  a  father-in-law?"  he  asked. 
"He's  sort  of  walkin'  delegate  over  the  whole 
bloomin'  family.  A  god  with  two  legs.  The 
others?  Why,  we  killed  them.  But  Upi  and  his 
heathen  wouldn't  see  anything  happen  to  the  old 
man  when  they  found  I  was  going  to  take  the  girl. 
That's  why  he's  alive  up  there  in  the  cabin  now. 
Lord,  what  a  mess  you're  heading  into,  Raine! 
And  I'm  wondering,  after  you  kill  me,  and  they 
kill  you,  who'll  have  the  girl?  There's  a  half- 
breed  in  the  tribe  an'  she'll  probably  go  to  him. 
The  heathen  themselves  don't  give  a  flip  for 
women,  you  know.  So  it's  certain  to  be  the  half- 
breed." 

He  surged  on  ahead,  cracking  his  whip,  and 
crying  out  to  the  dogs.  Philip  believed  that  in 
those  few  moments  he  had  spoken  much  that  was 
truth.  He  had,  without  hesitation  and  of  his  own 
volition,  confessed  the  murder  of  the  companions 


220  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

of  Celie's  father,  and  he  had  explained  in  a 
reasonable  way  why  Amain  himself  had  been 
spared.  These  facts  alone  increased  his  appre 
hension.  Unless  Blake  was  utterly  confident  of 
the  final  outcome  he  would  not  so  openly  expose 
himself.  He  was  even  more  on  his  guard  after 
this. 

For  several  hours  after  his  brief  fit  of  talking 
Blake  made  no  effort  to  resume  the  conversation 
nor  any  desire  to  answer  Philip  when  the  latter 
spoke  to  him.  A  number  of  times  it  struck 
Philip  that  he  was  going  the  pace  that  would  tire 
out  both  man  and  beast  before  night.  He  knew 
that  in  Blake's  shaggy  head  there  was  a  brain 
keenly  and  dangerously  alive,  and  he  noted  the 
extreme  effort  he  was  making  to  cover  distance 
with  a  satisfaction  that  was  not  unmixed  of  sus 
picion.  By  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  they 
were  thirty-five  miles  from  the  cabin  in  which 
Blake  had  become  a  prisoner.  All  that  distance 
they  had  traveled  through  a  treeless  barren  with 
out  a  sign  of  life.  It  was  between  three  and  four 
when  they  began  to  strike  timber  once  more,  and 
Philip  asked  himself  if  it  had  been  Blake's  scheme 
to  reach  this  timber  before  dusk.  In  places  the 
spruce  and  banskian  pine  thickened  until  they 
formed  dark  walls  of  forest  and  whenever  they 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  221 

approached  these  patches  Philip  commanded 
Blake  to  take  the  middle  of  the  river.  The  width 
of  the  stream  was  a  comforting  protection.  It 
was  seldom  less  than  two  hundred  yards  from 
shore  to  shore  and  frequently  twice  that  distance. 
From  the  possible  ambuscades  they  passed  only 
a  rifle  could  be  used  effectively,  and  whenever 
there  appeared  to  be  the  possibility  of  that  dan 
ger  Philip  traveled  close  to  Blake,  with  the  re 
volver  in  his  hand.  The  crack  of  a  rifle  even  if 
the  bullet  should  find  its  way  home,  meant  Blake '» 
life.  Of  that  fact  the  outlaw  could  no  longer 
have  a  doubt. 

For  an  hour  before  the  gray  dusk  of  Arctic 
night  began  to  gather  about  them  Philip  began  to* 
feel  the  effect  of  their  strenuous  pace.  Hours  of 
cramped  inactivity  on  the  sledge  had  brought  into- 
Celie's  face  lines  of  exhaustion.  Since  middle- 
afternoon  the  dogs  had  dragged  at  times  in  their 
traces.  Now  they  were  dead-tired.  Blake,  and 
Blake  alone,  seemed  tireless.  It  was  six  o'clock 
when  they  entered  a  country  that  was  mostly 
plain,  with  a  thin  fringe  of  timber  along  the 
shores.  They  had  raced  for  nine  hours,  and  had 
traveled  fifty  miles.  It  was  here,  in  a  wide 
reach  of  river,  that  Philip  gave  the  command  to 
halt. 


222  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

His  first  caution  was  to  secure  Blake  hand  and 
foot,  with  his  back  resting  against  a  frozen  snow- 
hummock  a  dozen  paces  from  the  sledge.  The 
outlaw  accepted  the  situation  with  an  indifference 
which  seemed  to  Philip  more  forced  than  philo 
sophical.  After  that,  while  Celie  was  walking 
back  and  forth  to  produce  a  warmer  circulation 
in  her  numbed  body,  he  hurried  to  the  scrub  timber 
that  grew  along  the  shore  and  returned  with  a 
small  armful  of  dry  wood.  The  fire  he  built  was 
small,  and  concealed  as  much  as  possible  by  the 
sledge.  Ten  minutes  sufficed  to  cook  the  meat 
for  their  supper.  Then  he  stamped  out  the  fire, 
fed  the  dogs,  and  made  a  comfortable  nest  of  bear 
skins  for  himself  and  Celie,  facing  Blake.  The 
night  had  thickened  until  he  could  make  out  only 
dimly  the  form  of  the  outlaw  against  the  snow- 
hummock.  His  revolver  lay  ready  at  his  side. 

In  that  darkness  he  drew  Celie  close  up  into 
his  arms.  Her  head  lay  on  his  breast.  He 
buried  his  lips  in  the  smothering  sweetness  of  her 
hair,  and  her  arms  crept  gently  about  his  neck. 
Even  then  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  Blake, 
nor  for  an  instant  did  he  cease  to  listen  for  other 
sounds  than  the  deep  breathing  of  the  exhausted 
dogs.  It  was  only  a  little  while  before  the  stars 
began  to  fill  the  sky.  The  gloom  lifted  slowly, 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  223 

and  out  of  darkness  rose  the  white  world  in  a 
cold,  shimmering  glory.  In  that  starlight  he 
could  see  the  glisten  of  Celie's  hair  as  it  covered 
them  like  a  golden  veil,  and  once  or  twice  through 
the  space  that  separated  them  he  caught  the  flash 
of  a  strange  fire  in  the  outlaw 's  eyes.  Both 
shores  were  visible.  He  could  have  seen  the  ap 
proach  of  a  man  two  hundred  yards  away. 

After  a  little  he  observed  that  Blake's  head 
was  drooping  upon  his  chest,  and  that  his  breath 
ing  had  become  deeper.  His  prisoner,  he  be 
lieved,  was  asleep.  And  Celie,  nestling  on  his 
breast,  was  soon  in  slumber.  He  alone  was 
awake, — and  watching.  The  dogs,  flat  on  their 
bellies,  were  dead  to  the  world.  For  an  hour 
he  kept  his  vigil.  In  that  time  he  could  not  see 
that  Blake  moved.  He  heard  nothing  suspicious. 
And  the  night  grew  steadily  brighter  with  the 
white  glow  of  the  stars.  He  held  the  revolver  in 
his  hand  now.  The  starlight  played  on  it  in  a 
steely  glitter  that  could  not  fail  to  catch  Blake's 
eyes  should  he  awake. 

And  then  Philip  found  himself  fighting — fight 
ing  desperately  to  keep  awake.  Again  and  again 
his  eyes  closed,  and  he  forced  them  open  with  an 
effort.  He  had  planned  that  they  would  rest  for 
two  or  three  hours.  The  two  hours  were  gone 


224  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

when  for  the  twentieth  time  his  eyes  shot  open, 
and  he  looked  at  Blake.  The  outlaw  had  not 
moved.  His  head  hung  still  lower  on  his 
breast,  and  again — slowly — irresistibly — exhaus 
tion  closed  Philip's  eyes.  Even  then  Philip  was 
conscious  of  fighting  against  the  overmastering 
desire  to  sleep.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
struggling  for  hours,  and  all  that  time  his  sub- 
consciousness  was  crying  out  for  him  to  awake, 
struggling  to  rouse  him  to  the  nearness  of  a 
great  danger.  It  succeeded  at  last.  His  eyes 
opened,  and  he  stared  in  a  dazed  and  half  blinded 
way  toward  Blake.  His  first  sensation  was  one 
of  vast  relief  that  he  had  awakened.  The  stars 
were  brighter.  The  night  was  still.  And  there, 
a  dozen  paces  from  him  was  the  snow-hummock. 

But  Blake— Blake 

His  heart  leapt  into  his  throat. 

Blake  was  gonel 


CHAPTEE  XXIV 

THE  shock  of  the  discovery  that  Blake  had  es 
caped  brought  Philip  half  to  his  knees  before  he 
thought  of  Celie.  In  an  instant  the  girl  was 
awake.  His  arm  nad  tightened  almost  fiercely 
about  her.  She  caught  the  gleam  of  his  revolver, 
and  in  another  moment  she  saw  the  empty  space 
where  their  prisoner  had  been.  Swiftly  Philip's 
eyes  traveled  over  the  moonlit  spaces  about  them. 
Blake  had  utterly  disappeared.  Then  he  saw  the 
rifle,  and  breathed  easier.  For  some  reason  the 
outlaw  had  not  taken  that,  and  it  was  a  moment 
or  two  before  the  significance  of  the  fact  broke 
upon  him.  Blake  must  have  escaped  just  as  he 
was  making  that  last  tremendous  fight  to  rouse 
himself.  He  had  had  no  more  than  time  to  slink 
away  into  the  shadows  of  the  night,  and  had  not 
paused  to  hazard  a  chance  of  securing  the  weapon 
that  lay  on  the  snow  close  to  Celie.  He  had  evi- 
dently  believed  that  Philip  was  only  half  asleep, 
and  in  the  moonlight  he  must  have  seen  the  gleam 
of  the  big  revolver  leveled  over  his  captor's  knee. 

225 


226  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Leaving  Celie  huddled  in  her  furs,  Philip  rose 
to  his  feet  and  slowly  approached  the  snow  hum 
mock  against  which  he  had  left  his  prisoner.  The 
girl  heard  the  startled  exclamation  that  fell  from 
his  lips  when  he  saw  what  had  happened.  Blake 
had  not  escaped  alone.  Eunning  straight  out 
from  behind  the  hummock  was  a  furrow  in  the 
snow  like  the  trail  made  by  an  otter.  He  had  seen 
such  furrows  before,  where  Eskimos  had  wormed 
their  way  foot  by  foot  within  striking  distance 
of  dozing  seals.  Assistance  had  come  to  Blake 
in  that  manner,  and  he  could  see  where — on  their 
hands  and  knees — two  men  instead  of  one  had 
stolen  back  through  the  moonlight. 

Celie  came  to  his  side  now,  gripping  the  rifle  in 
her  hands.  Her  eyes  were  wide  and  filled  with 
frightened  inquiry  as  she  looked  from  the  tell 
tale  trails  in  the  snow  into  Philip's  face.  He  was 
glad  that  she  could  not  question  him  in  words. 
He  slipped  the  Colt  into  its  holster  and  took  the 
rifle  from  her  hands.  In  the  emergency  which 
he  anticipated  the  rifle  would  be  more  effective. 
That  something  would  happen  very  soon  he  was 
positive.  If  one  Eskimo  had  succeeded  in  getting 
ahead  of  his  comrades  to  Blake's  relief  others  of 
Upi's  tribe  must  be  close  behind.  And  yet  he 
wondered,  as  he  thought  of  this,  why  Blake  and 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  227 

the  Kogmollock  had  not  killed  him  instead  of  run 
ning  away.  The  truth  he  told  frankly  to  Celie, 
thankful  that  she  could  not  understand. 

"It  was  the  gun,"  he  said.  "They  thought  I 
had  only  closed  my  eyes,  and  wasn't  asleep.  If 
something  hadn't  kept  that  gun  leveled  over  my 

knee "  He  tried  to  smile,  knowing  that  with 

every  second  the  end  might  come  for  them  from 
out  of  the  gray  mist  of  moonlight  and  shadow 
that  shrouded  the  shore.  "It  was  a  one-man  job, 
sneaking  out  like  that,  and  there's  sure  a  bunch 
of  them  coming  up  fast  to  take  a  hand  in  the 
game.  It's  up  to  us  to  hit  the  high  spots,  my 
dear — an'  you  might  pray  God  to  give  us  time 
for  a  start." 

If  he  had  hoped  to  keep  from  her  the  full  horror 
of  their  situation,  he  knew,  as  he  placed  her  on 
the  sledge,  that  he  had  failed.  Her  eyes  told  him 
that.  Intuitively  she  had  guessed  at  the  heart  of 
the  thing,  and  suddenly  her  arms  reached  up  about 
his  neck  as  he  bent  over  her  and  against  his  breast 
he  heard  the  sobbing  cry  that  she  was  trying  hard 
to  choke  back.  Under  the  cloud  of  her  hair  her 
warm,  parted  lips  lay  for  a  thrilling  moment 
against  his  own,  and  then  he  sprang  to  the  dogs. 

They  had  already  roused  themselves  and  at  his 
command  began  sullenly  to  drag  their  lame  and 


228  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

exhausted  bodies  into  trace  formation.  As  the 
sledge  began  to  move,  he  sent  the  long  lash  of  the 
driving  whip  curling  viciously  over  the  backs  of 
the  pack  and  the  pace  increased.  Straight  ahead 
of  them  ran  the  white  trail  of  the  Coppermine,  and 
they  were  soon  following  this  with  the  eagerness 
of  a  team  on  the  homeward  stretch.  As  Philip 
ran  behind  he  made  a  fumbling  inventory  of  the 
loose  rifle  cartridges  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  and 
under  his  breath  prayed  to  God  that  the  day  would 
come  before  the  Eskimos  closed  in.  Only  one  thing 
did  he  see  ahead  of  him  now — a  last  tremendous 
fight  for  Celie,  and  he  wanted  the  light  of  dawn  to 
give  him  accuracy.  He  had  thirty  cartridges,  and 
it  was  possible  that  he  could  put  up  a  successful 
running  fight  until  they  reached  Armin's  cabin. 
After  that  fate  would  decide.  He  was  already 
hatching  a  scheme  in  his  brain.  If  he  failed  to 
get  Blake  early  in  the  fight  which  he  anticipated 
he  would  show  the  white  flag,  demand  a  parley 
with  the  outlaw  under  pretense  of  surrendering 
Celie,  and  shoot  him  dead  the  moment  they  stood 
face  to  face.  With  Blake  out  of  the  way  there 
might  be  another  way  of  dealing  with  Upi  and  his 
Kogmollocks.  It  was  Blake  who  wanted  Celie. 
In  Upi's  eyes  there  were  other  things  more  pre 
cious  than  a  woman.  The  thought  revived  in  him 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  229 

a  new  thrill  of  hope.  It  recalled  to  him  the  inci 
dent  of  Father  Breault  and  the  white  woman 
nurse  who,  farther  west,  had  been  held  for  ransom 
by  the  Nanamalutes  three  years  ago.  Not  a  hair 
of  the  woman's  head  had  been  harmed  in  nine 
months  of  captivity.  Olaf  Anderson  had  told  him 
the  whole  story.  There  had  been  no  white  man 
there — only  the  Eskimos,  and  with  the  Eskimos  he 
believed  that  he  could  deal  now  if  he  succeeded 
in  killing  Blake.  Back  at  the  cabin  he  could 
easily  have  settled  the  matter,  and  he  felt  like 
cursing  himself  for  his  shortsightedness. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  missed  his  main 
chance  he  began  now  to  see  more  than  hope  in  a 
situation  that  five  minutes  before  had  been  one 
of  appalling  gloom.  If  he  could  keep  ahead  of 
his  enemies  until  daybreak  he  had  a  ninety  per 
cent  chance  of  getting  Blake.  At  some  spot 
where  he  could  keep  the  Kogmollocks  at  bay  and 
scatter  death  among  them  if  they  attacked  he 
would  barricade  himself  and  Celie  behind  the 
sledge  and  call  out  his  acceptance  of  Blake's 
proposition  to  give  up  Celie  as  the  price  of  his 
own  safety.  He  would  demand  an  interview  with 
Blake,  and  it  was  then  that  his  opportunity  would 
come. 

But  ahead  of  him  were  the  leaden  hours  of  the 


230          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

gray  night!  Out  of  that  ghostly  mist  of  pale 
moonlight  through  which  the  dogs  were  traveling 
like  sinuous  shadows  Upi  and  his  tribe  could  close 
in  on  him  silently  and  swiftly,  unseen  until  they 
were  within  striking  distance.  In  that  event  all 
would  be  lost.  He  urged  the  dogs  on,  calling 
them  by  the  names  which  he  had  heard  Blake  use, 
and  occasionally  he  sent  the  long  lash  of  his  whip 
curling  over  their  backs.  The  surface  of  the 
Coppermine  was  smooth  and  hard.  Now  and 
then  they  came  to  stretches  of  glare  ice  and  at 
these  intervals  Philip  rode  behind  Celie,  staring 
back  into  the  white  mystery  of  the  night  out  of 
which  they  had  come.  It  was  so  still  that  the 
click,  click,  click  of  the  dogs'  claws  sounded  like 
the  swift  beat  of  tiny  castanets  on  the  ice.  He 
could  hear  the  panting  breath  of  the  beasts.  The 
whalebone  runners  of  the  sledge  creaked  with  the 
shrill  protest  of  steel  traveling  over  frozen  snow. 
Beyond  these  sounds  there  were  no  others,  with 
the  exception  of  his  own  breath  and  the  beating 
of  his  own  heart.  Mile  after  mile  of  the  Copper 
mine  dropped  behind  them.  The  last  tree  and 
the  last  fringe  of  bushes  disappeared,  and  to  the 
east,  the  north,  and  the  west  there  was  no  break 
in  the  vast  emptiness  of  the  great  Arctic  plain. 
Ever  afterward  the  memory  of  that  night  seemed 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  231 

like  a  grotesque  and  horrible  dream  to  him. 
Looking  back,  he  could  remember  how  the  moon 
sank  out  of  the  sky  and  utter  darkness  closed 
them  in  and  how  through  that  darkness  he  urged 
on  the  tired  dogs,  tugging  with  them  at  the  lead- 
trace,  and  stopping  now  and  then  in  his  own  ex 
haustion  to  put  his  arms  about  Celie  and  repeat 
over  and  over  again  that  everything  was  all  right. 
After  an  eternity  the  dawn  came.  What  there 
was  to  be  of  day  followed  swiftly,  like  the  Arctic 
night.  The  shadows  faded  away,  the  shores 
loomed  up  and  the  illimitable  sweep  of  the  plain 
lifted  itself  into  vision  as  if  from  out  of  a  great 
sea  of  receding  fog.  In  the  quarter  hour's 
phenomenon  between  the  last  of  darkness  and 
wide  day  Philip  stood  straining  his  eyes  south 
ward  over  the  white  path  of  the  Coppermine.  It 
was  Celie,  huddled  close  at  his  side,  who  turned 
her  eyes  first  from  the  trail  their  enemies  would 
follow.  She  faced  the  north,  and  the  cry  that 
came  from  her  lips  brought  Philip  about  like  a 
shot.  His  first  sensation  was  one  of  amazement 
that  they  had  not  yet  passed  beyond  the  last  line 
of  timber.  Not  more  than  a  third  of  a  mile  dis 
tant  the  river  ran  into  a  dark  strip  of  forest  that 
reached  in  from  the  western  plain  like  a  great 
finger.  Then  he  saw  what  Celie  had  seen.  Close 


232  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

up  against  the  timber  a  spiral  of  smoke  was  ris 
ing  into  the  air.  He  made  out  in  another  moment 
the  form  of  a  cabin,  and  the  look  in  Celie's  star 
ing  face  told  him  the  rest.  She  was  sobbing 
breathless  words  which  he  could  not  understand, 
but  he  knew  that  they  had  won  their  race,  and 
that  it  was  Armin's  place.  And  Armin  was  not 
dead.  He  was  alive,  as  Blake  had  said — and  it 
was  about  breakfast  time.  He  had  held  up  under 
the  tremendous  strain  of  the  night  until  now — and 
now  he  was  filled  with  an  uncontrollable  desire  to 
laugh.  The  curious  thing  about  it  was  that  in 
spite  of  this  desire  no  sound  came  from  his 
throat.  He  continued  to  stare  until  Celie  turned 
to  him  and  swayed  into  his  arms.  In  the  moment 
of  their  triumph  her  strength  was  utterly  gone. 
And  then  the  thing  happened  which  brought  the 
life  back  into  him  again  with  a  shock.  From  far 
up  the  black  finger  of  timber  where  it  bellied  over 
the  horizon  of  the  plain  there  floated  down  to 
them  a  chorus  of  sound.  It  was  a  human  sound 
— the  yapping,  wolfish  cry  of  an  Eskimo  horde 
closing  in  on  man  or  beast.  They  had  heard  that 
same  cry  close  on  the  heels  of  the  fight  in  the 
clearing.  Now  it  was  made  by  many  voices  in 
stead  of  two  or  three.  It  was  accompanied  al 
most  instantly  by  the  clear,  sharp  report  of  a 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  233 

rifle,  and  a  moment  later  the  single  shot  was  fol 
lowed  by  a  scattering  fusillade.  After  that  there 
was  silence. 

Quickly  Philip  bundled  Celie  on  the  sledge  and 
drove  the  dogs  ahead,  his  eyes  on  a  wide  opening 
in  the  timber  three  or  four  hundred  yards  above 
the  river.  Five  minutes  later  the  sledge  drew  up 
in  front  of  the  cabin.  In  that  time  they  heard  no 
further  outcry  or  sound  of  gunfire,  and  from  the 
cabin  itself  there  came  no  sign  of  life,  unless  the 
smoke  meant  life.  Scarcely  had  the  sledge 
stopped  before  Celie  was  on  her  feet  and  running 
to  the  door.  It  was  locked,  and  she  beat  against 
it  excitedly  with  her  little  fists,  calling  a  strange 
name.  Standing  close  behind  her,  Philip  heard  a 
shuffling  movement  beyond  the  log  walls,  the 
scraping  of  a  bar,  and  a  man's  voice  so  deep  that 
it  had  in  it  the  booming  note  of  a  drum.  To  it 
Celie  replied  with  almost  a  shriek.  The  door 
swung  inward,  and  Philip  saw  a  man's  arms  open 
and  Celie  run  into  them.  He  was  an  old  man. 
His  hair  and  beard  were  white.  This  much 
Philip  observed  before  he  turned  with  a  sudden 
thrill  toward  the  open  in  the  forest.  Only  he  had 
heard  the  cry  that  had  come  from  that  direction, 
and  now,  looking  back,  he  saw  a  figure  running 
swiftly  over  the  plain  toward  the  cabin.  In- 


234  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

stantly  he  knew  that  it  was  a  white  man.  With 
his  revolver  in  his  hand  he  advanced  to  meet  him 
and  in  a  hrief  space  they  stood  face  to  face. 

The  stranger  was  a  giant  of  a  man.  His  long, 
reddish  hair  fell  to  his  shoulders.  He  was  bare 
headed,  and  panting  as  if  hard  run,  and  his  face 
was  streaming  with  blood.  His  eyes  seemed  to 
bulge  out  of  their  sockets  as  he  stared  at  Philip. 
And  Philip,  almost  dropping  his  revolver  in  his 
amazement,  gasped  incredulously: 

"My  God,  is  it  you— Olaf  Anderson!" 


CHAPTEE  XXV 

FOLLOWING  that  first  wild  stare  of  uncertainty 
and  disbelief  in  the  big  Swede's  eyes  came  a  look 
of  sudden  and  joyous  recognition.  He  was 
clutching  at  Philip's  hand  like  a  drowning  man 
before  he  made  an  effort  to  speak,  still  with  his 
eyes  on  the  other's  face  as  if  he  was  not  quite 
sure  they  had  not  betrayed  him.  Then  he 
grinned.  There  was  only  one  man  in  the  world 
who  could  grin  like  Olaf  Anderson.  In  spite  of 
blood  and  swollen  features  it  transformed  him. 
Men  loved  the  red-headed  Swede  because  of  that 
grin.  Not  a  man  in  the  service  who  knew  him 
but  swore  that  Olaf  would  die  with  the  grin  on 
his  face,  because  the  tighter  the  hole  he  was  in 
the  more  surely  would  the  grin  be  there.  It  was 
the  grin  that  answered  Philip's  question. 

"Just  in  time — to  the  dot,"  said  Olaf,  still 
pumping  Philip's  hand,  and  grinning  hard. 
"All  dead  but  me — Calkins,  Harris,  and  that  little 
Dutchman,  O'Flynn.  Cold  and  stiff,  Phil,  every 

235 


236  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

one  of  them.  I  knew  an  investigating  patrol 
would  be  coming  up  pretty  soon.  Been  looking 
for  it  every  day.  How  many  men  you  got  I ' ' 

He  looked  beyond  Philip  to  the  cabin  and  the 
sledge.  The  grin  slowly  went  out  of  his  face,  and 
Philip  heard  the  sudden  catch  in  his  breath.  A 
swift  glance  revealed  the  amazing  truth  to  Olaf. 
He  dropped  Philip's  hand  and  stepped  back,  tak 
ing  him  in  suddenly  from  head  to  foot. 

"Alone!" 

"Yes,  alone,"  nodded  Philip.  "With  the  ex 
ception  of  Celie  Armin.  I  brought  her  back  to 
her  father.  A  fellow  named  Blake  is  back  there 
a  little  way  with  Upi's  tribe.  We  beat  them  out, 
but  I'm  figuring  it  won't  be  long  before  they  show 
up." 

The  grin  was  fixed  in  Olaf 's  face  again. 

"Lord  bless  us,  but  it's  funny,"  he  grunted. 
"They're  coming  on  the  next  train,  so  to  speak, 
and  right  over  in  that  neck  of  woods  is  the  other 
half  of  Upi's  tribe  chasing  their  short  legs  off  to 
get  me.  And  the  comical  part  of  it  is  you're 
alone!"  His  eyes  were  fixed  suddenly  on  the  re 
volver.  "Ammunition?"  he  demanded  eagerly. 
"And— grub?" 

"Thirty  or  forty  rounds  of  rifle,  a  dozen  Colt, 
and  plenty  of  meat " 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  237 

"Then  into  the  cabin,  and  the  dogs  with  us," 
almost  shouted  the  Swede. 

From  the  edge  of  the  forest  came  the  report  of 
a  rifle  and  over  their  heads  went  the  humming 
drone  of  a  bullet. 

They  were  back  at  the  cabin  in  a  dozen  seconds, 
tugging  at  the  dogs.  It  cost  an  effort  to  get  them 
through  the  door,  with  the  sledge  after  them. 
Half  a  dozen  shots  came  from  the  forest.  A 
bullet  spattered  against  the  log  wall,  found  a 
crevice,  and  something  metallic  jingled  inside. 
As  Olaf  swung  the  door  shut  and  dropped  the 
wooden  bar  in  place  Philip  turned  for  a  moment 
toward  Celie.  She  went  to  him,  her  eyes  shin 
ing  in  the  semi-gloom  of  the  cabin,  and  put  her 
arms  up  about  his  shoulders.  The  Swede,  look 
ing  on,  stood  transfixed,  and  the  white-bearded 
Armin  stared  incredulously.  On  her  tip-toes 
Celie  kissed  Philip,  and  then  turning  with  her 
arms  still  about  him  said  something  to  the  older 
man  that  brought  an  audible  gasp  from  Olaf.  In 
another  moment  she  had  slipped  away  from 
Philip  and  back  to  her  father.  The  Swede  was 
flattening  his  face  against  a  two  inch  crevice  be 
tween  the  logs  when  Philip  went  to  his  side. 

"What  did  she  say,  Olaf?"  he  entreated. 

"That  she's  going  to  marry  you  if  we  ever 


238  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

get  out  of  this  hell  of  a  fix  we're  in,"  grunted 
Olaf.  " Pretty  lucky  dog,  I  say,  if  it's  true. 
Imagine  Celie  Armin  marrying  a  dub  like  you! 
But  it  will  never  happen.  If  you  don't  believe  it 
fill  your  eyes  with  that  out  there !" 

Philip  glued  his  eyes  to  the  long  crevice  be 
tween  the  logs  and  found  the  forest  and  the  little 
finger  of  plain  between  straight  in  his  vision. 
The  edge  of  the  timber  was  alive  with  men, 
There  must  have  been  half  a  hundred  of  them> 
and  they  were  making  no  effort  to  conceal  them 
selves.  For  the  first  time  Olaf  began  to  give  him 
an  understanding  of  the  situation. 

''This  is  the  fortieth  day  we've  held  them  off," 
he  said,  in  the  quick-cut,  business-like  voice  he 
might  have  used  in  rendering  a  report  to  a 
superior.  "Eighty  cartridges  to  begin  with  and 
a  month's  ration  of  grub  for  two.  All  but  the 
three  last  cartridges  went  day  before  yesterday. 
Yesterday  everything  quiet.  On  the  edge  of  star 
vation  this  morning  when  I  went  out  on  scout 
duty  and  to  take  a  chance  at  game.  Surprised  a 
couple  of  them  carrying  meat  and  had  a  tall  fight. 
Others  hove  into  action  and  I  had  to  use  two  of 
my  cartridges.  One  left — and  they're  showing 
themselves  because  they  know  we  don't  dare  to 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  239 

use  ammunition  at  long  range.  My  caliber  is 
thirty-five.  What 's  yours  ? ' ' 

"The  same,"  replied  Philip  quickly,  his  blood 
beginning  to  thrill  with  the  anticipation  of  battle. 
"I'll  give  you  half.  I'm  on  duty  from  Fort 
Churchill,  off  on  a  tangent  of  my  own."  He  did 
not  take  his  eyes  from  the  slit  in  the  wall  as  he 
told  Anderson  in  a  hundred  words  what  had  hap 
pened  since  his  meeting  with  Bram  Johnson. 
"And  with  forty  cartridges  we'll  give  'em  a  taste 
of  hell,  "he  added. 

He  caught  his  breath,  and  the  last  word  half 
choked  itself  from  his  lips.  He  knew  that  Ander 
son  was  staring  as  hard  as  he.  Up  from  the 
river  and  over  the  level  sweep  of  plain  between 
it  and  the  timber  came  a  sledge,  followed  by  a 
second,  a  third,  and  a  fourth.  In  the  trail  behind 
the  sledges  trotted  a  score  and  a  half  of  fur-clad 
figures. 

"It's  Blake!"  exclaimed  Philip. 

Anderson  drew  himself  away  from  the  wall. 
In  his  eyes  burned  a  curious  greenish  flame,  and 
his  face  was  set  with  the  hardness  of  iron.  In 
that  iron  was  molded  indistinctly  the  terrible 
smile  with  which  he  always  went  into  battle  or 
fronted  "his  man."  Slowly  he  turned,  pointing 


240  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

a  long  arm  at  each  of  the  four  walls  of  the  cabin. 

"That's  the  lay  of  the  fight/'  he  said,  making 
his  words  short  and  to  the  point.  "They  can 
come  at  us  on  all  sides,  and  so  I've  made  a  six- 
foot  gun-crevice  in  each  wall.  We  can't  count  on 
Armin  for  anything  but  the  use  of  a  club  if  it 
comes  to  close  quarters.  The  walls  are  built  of 
saplings  and  they've  got  guns  out  there  that  get 
through.  Outside  of  that  we've  got  one  big  ad 
vantage.  The  little  devils  are  superstitious  about 
fighting  at  night,  and  even  Blake  can't  force  them 
into  it.  Blake  is  the  man  I  was  after  when  I  ran 
across  Armin  and  his  people.  Gad!" 

There  was  an  unpleasant  snap  in  his  voice  as  he 
peered  through  the  gun-hole  again.  Philip  looked 
across  the  room  to  Celie  and  her  father  as  he 
divided  the  cartridges.  They  were  both  listen 
ing,  yet  he  knew  they  did  not  understand  what  he 
and  Olaf  were  saying.  He  dropped  a  half  of  the 
cartridges  into  the  right  hand  pocket  of  the 
Swede's  service  coat,  and  advanced  then  toward 
Armin  with  both  his  hands  held  out  in  greeting. 
Even  in  that  tense  moment  he  saw  the  sudden 
flash  of  pleasure  in  Celie 's  eyes.  Her  lips  trem 
bled,  and  she  spoke  softly  and  swiftly  to  her 
father,  looking  at  Philip.  Armin  advanced  a 
step,  and  their  hands  met.  At  first  Philip  had 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  241 

taken  him  for  an  old  man.  Hair  and  beard  were 
white,  his  shoulders  were  bent,  his  hands  were 
long  and  thin.  But  his  eyes,  sunken  deep  in  their 
sockets,  had  not  aged  with  the  rest  of  him.  They 
were  filled  with  the  piercing  scrutiny  of  a  hawk's 
as  they  looked  into  his  own,  measuring  him  in 
that  moment  so  far  as  man  can  measure  man. 
Then  he  spoke,  and  it  was  the  light  in  Celie 's 
eyes,  her  parted  lips,  and  the  flush  that  came 
swiftly  into  her  face  that  gave  him  an  under 
standing  of  what  Armin  was  saying. 

From  the  end  of  the  cabin  Olaf  's  voice  broke  in. 
With  it  came  the  metallic  working  of  his  rifle  as 
he  filled  the  chamber  with  cartridges.  He  spoke 
first  to  Celie  and  Armin  in  their  own  language, 
then  to  Philip. 

"It's  a  pretty  safe  gamble  we'd  better  get 
ready  for  them,"  he  said.  "They'll  soon  begin. 
Did  you  split  even  on  the  cartridges?" 

'  '  Seventeen  apiece. ' ' 

Philip  examined  his  rifle,  and  looked  through 
the  gun-crevice  toward  the  forest.  He  heard 
Olaf  tugging  at  the  dogs  as  he  tied  them  to  the 
bunk  posts;  he  heard  Armin  say  something  in  a 
strained  voice,  and  the  Swede's  unintelligible  re 
ply,  followed  by  a  quick,  low-voiced  interrogation 
from  Celie.  In  the  same  moment  his  heart  gave* 


242  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

a  sudden  jump.  In  the  fringe  of  the  forest  he 
saw  a  long,  thin  line  of  moving  figures — advanc 
ing.  He  did  not  call  out  a  warning  instantly. 
For  a  space  in  which  he  might  have  taken  a  long 
breath  or  two  his  eyes  and  brain  were  centered 
on  the  moving  figures  and  the  significance  of  their 
drawn-out  formation.  Like  a  camera-flash  his 
eyes  ran  over  the  battleground.  Half  way  be 
tween  the  cabin  and  that  fringe  of  forest  four 
hundred  yards  away  was  a  " hogback"  in  the 
snow,  running  a  curving  parallel  with  the  plain. 
It  formed  scarcely  more  than  a  three  or  four  foot 
rise  in  the  surface,  and  he  had  given  it  no  special 
significance  until  now.  His  lips  formed  words  as 
the  thrill  of  understanding  leapt  upon  him. 

"  They  're  moving!"  he  called  to  Olaf. 
"  They  're  going  to  make  a  rush  for  the  little  ridge 
between  us  and  the  timber.  Good  God,  Anderson, 
there's  an  army  of  them!" 

"Not  more'n  a  hundred,"  replied  the  Swede 
calmly,  taking  his  place  at  the  gun-crevice. 
"Take  it  easy,  Phil.  This  will  be  good  target 
practice.  We've  got  to  make  an  eighty  percent 
kill  as  they  come  across  the  open.  This  is 
mighty  comfortable  compared  with  the  trick  they 
turned  on  us  when  they  got  Calkins,  Harris  and 
O'Flynn.  I  got  away  in  the  night." 


THE  GOLDEN  SNAKE  243 

The  moving  line  had  paused  just  within  the  last 
straggling  growth  of  trees,  as  if  inviting  the  fire 
of  the  defenders. 

Olaf  grunted  as  he  looked  along  the  barrel  of 
his  rifle. 

"Strategy,"  he  mumbled.  "They  know  we're 
shy  of  ammunition." 

In  the  moments  of  tense  waiting  Philip  found 
his  first  opportunity  to  question  the  man  at  his 
side.  First,  he  said : 

"I  guess  mebby  you  understand,  Olaf.  We've 
gone  through  a  hell  together,  and  I  love  her.  If 
we  get  out  of  this  she's  going  to  be  my  wife. 
She's  promised  me  that,  and  yet  I  swear  to 
Heaven  I  don't  know  more  than  a  dozen  words  of 
her  language.  What  has  happened?  Who  is 
gke?  Why  was  she  with  Bram  Johnson?  You 
know  their  language,  and  have  been  with 
them " 

"They're  taking  final  orders,"  interrupted 
Olaf,  as  if  he  had  not  heard.  "There's  some 
thing  more  on  foot  than  a  rush  to  the  ridge.  It's 
Blake's  scheming.  See  those  little  groups  form 
ing?  They're  going  to  bring  battering-rams,  and 
make  a  second  rush  from  the  ridge."  He  drew 
in  a  deep  breath,  and  without  a  change  in  the 
even  tone  of  his  voice,  went  on:  "Calkins, 


244  THE  GOLDEN  SNAKE 

Harris  and  O'Flynn  went  down  in  a  good  fight 
Tell  you  about  that  later.  Hit  seven  days'  west, 
and  run  on  the  camp  of  Armin,  his  girl,  and  two 
white  men — Russians — guided  by  two  Kogmol- 
locks  from  Coronation  Gulf.  You  can  guess 
some  of  the  rest.  The  little  devils  had  Blake  and 
his  gang  about  us  two  days  after  I  struck  them. 
Bram  Johnson  and  his  wolves  came  along  then — 
from  nowhere — going  nowhere.  The  Kogmollocks 
think  Bram  is  a  great  Devil,  and  that  each  of  his 
wolves  is  a  Devil.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  they 
would  have  murdered  us  in  a  hurry,  and  Blake 
would  have  taken  the  girl.  They  were  queered 
by  the  way  Bram  would  squat  on  his  haunches, 
and  stare  at  her.  The  second  day  I  saw  him 
mumbling  over  something,  and  looked  sharp.  He 
had  one  of  Celie's  long  hairs,  and  when  he  saw 
me  he  snarled  like  an  animal,  as  though  he  feared 
I  would  take  it  from  him.  I  knew  what  was  com 
ing.  I  knew  Blake  was  only  waiting  for  Bram 
to  get  away  from  his  Kogmollocks — so  I  told 
Celie  to  give  Bram  a  strand  of  her  hair.  She  did 
— with  her  own  hands,  and  from  that  minute  the 
madman  watched  her  like  a  dog.  I  tried  to  talk 
with  him,  but  couldn't.  I  didn't  seem  to  be  able 
to  make  him  understand.  And  thei 
The  Swede  cut  himself  short 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  245 

"They're  moving,  Phil!  Take  the  men  with 
the  battering  rams — and  let  them  get  half  way  be 
fore  you  fire !  .  .  .  You  see,  Bram  and  his  wolves 
had  to  have  meat.  Blake  attacked  while  he  was 
gone.  Russians  killed — Armin  and  I  cornered, 
fighting  for  the  girl  behind  us,  when  Bram  came 
back  like  a  burst  of  thunder.  He  didn't  fight. 
He  grabbed  the  girl,  and  was  off  with  her  like  the 
wind  with  his  wolf -team.  Armin  and  I  got  into 
this  cabin,  and  here — forty  days  and  nights- " 

His  voice  stopped  ominously.  A  fraction  of  a 
second  later  it  was  followed  by  the  roar  of  his 
rifle,  and  at  the  first  shot  one  of  Blake's  Kog- 
mollocks  crumpled  up  with  a  grunt  half  way  be 
tween  the  snow-ridge  and  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  Eskimos  were  advancing  at  a  trot  now  over 
the  open  space.  Philip  was  amazed  at  their 
number.  There  were  at  least  a  hundred,  and  his 
heart  choked  with  a  feeling  of  despair  even  as  he 
pulled  the  trigger  for  his  first  shot.  He  had  seen 
the  effect  of  Olaf's  shot,  and  following  the 
Swede's  instructions  aimed  for  his  man  in  the 
nearest  group  behind  the  main  line.  He  did  not 
instantly  see  the  result,  as  a  puff  of  smoke  shut 
out  his  vision,  but  a  moment  later,  aiming  again, 
he  saw  a  dark  blotch  left  in  the  snow.  From  his 
end  of  the  crevice  Olaf  had  seen  the  man  go  down, 
and  he  grunted  his  approbation.  There  were  five 
of  the  groups  bearing  tree  trunks  for  battering- 
rams,  and  on  one  of  these  Philip  concentrated  the 
six  shots  in  his  rifle.  Four  of  the  tree-bearers 
went  down,  and  the  two  that  were  left  dropped 
their  burden  and  joined  those  ahead  of  them. 
Until  Philip  stepped  back  to  reload  his  gun  he 
had  not  noticed  Celie.  She  was  close  at  his  side, 
peering  through  the  gun-hole  at  the  tragedy  out 

246 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  247 

on  the  plain.  Once  before  he  had  been  astounded 
by  the  look  in  her  face  when  they  had  been  con 
fronted  by  great  danger,  and  as  his  fingers 
worked  swiftly  in  refilling  the  magazine  of  his 
rifle  he  saw  it  there  again.  It  was  not  fear,  even 
now.  It  was  a  more  wonderful  thing  than  that. 
Her  wide-open  eyes  glowed  with  a  strange,  dark 
luster;  in  the  center  of  each  of  her  cheeks  was  a 
vivid  spot  of  color,  and  her  lips  were  parted 
slightly,  so  that  he  caught  the  faintest  gleam  of 
her  teeth.  Wonderful  as  a  fragile  flower  she 
stood  there  with  her  eyes  upon  him,  her  splendid 
courage  and  her  faith  in  him  flaming  within  her 
like  a  fire. 

And  then  he  heard  Anderson's  voice: 

"They're  behind  the  ridge.  We  got  eight  of 
them." 

In  half  a  dozen  places  Philip  had  seen  where 
bullets  had  bored  the  way  through  the  cabin,  and 
leaning  his  gun  against  the  wall,  he  sprang  to 
Celie  and  almost  carried  her  behind  the  bunk 
that  was  built  against  the  logs. 

"You  must  stay  here,"  he  cried.  "Do  you 
understand?  Here!'9 

She  nodded,  and  smiled.  It  was  a  wonderful 
smile — a  flash  of  tenderness  telling  him  that  she 
knew  what  he  was  saying,  and  that  she  would 


248  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

obey  him.  She  made  no  effort  to  detain  him 
with  her  hands,  but  in  that  moment — if  life  had 
been  the  forfeit — Philip  would  have  stolen  the 
precious  time  in  which  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 
For  a  space  he  held  her  close  to  him,  his  lips 
crushed  to  hers,  and  faced  the  wall  again  with 
the  throb  of  her  soft  breast  still  beating  against 
his  heart.  He  noticed  Armin  standing  near  the 
door,  his  hand  resting  on  a  huge  club  which,  in 
turn,  rested  on  the  floor.  Calmly  he  was  wait 
ing  for  the  final  rush.  Olaf  was  peering  through 
the  gun-hole  again.  And  then  came  what  he 
had  expected — a  rattle  of  fire  from  the  snow- 
ridge.  The  pit — pit — pit  of  bullets  rained 
against  the  cabin  in  a  dull  tattoo.  Through  the 
door  came  a  bullet,  sending  a  splinter  close  to 
Armin's  face.  Almost  in  the  same  instant  a 
second  followed  it,  and  a  third  came  through 
the  crevice  so  close  to  Philip  that  he  felt  the 
hissing  breath  of  it  in  his  face.  One  of  the  dogs 
emitted  a  wailing  howl  and  flopped  among  its 
comrades  in  uncanny  convulsions. 

Olaf  staggered  back,  and  faced  Philip.  There 
was  no  trace  of  the  fighting  grin  in  his  facr 
now.  It  was  set  like  an  iron  mask. 

"Get  down!"  he  shouted.  "Do  you  hear,  get 
d&wn!"  He  dropped  on  his  knees,  crying  out 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  249 

the  warning  to  Armin  in  the  other's  language. 
"They've  got  enough  guns  to  make  a  sieve  of 
this  kennel  if  their  ammunition  holds  out — and 
the  lower  logs  are  heaviest.  Flatten  yourself 
out  until  they  stop  firing,  with  your  feet  toward 
'em,  like  this,"  and  he  stretched  himself  out  on 
the  floor,  parallel  with  the  direction  of  fire. 

In  place  of  following  the  Swede's  example 
Philip  ran  to  Celie.  Half  way  a  bullet  almost 
got  him,  flipping  the  collar  of  his  shirt.  He 
dropped  beside  her  and  gathered  her  up  com 
pletely  in  his  arms,  with  his  own  body  between 
her  and  the  fire.  A  moment  later  he  thanked 
God  for  the  protection  of  the  bunk.  He  heard 
the  ripping  of  a  bullet  through  the  saplings  and 
caught  distinctly  the  thud  of  it  as  the  spent  lead 
dropped  to  the  floor.  Celie 's  head  was  close  on 
his  breast,  her  eyes  were  on  his  face,  her  soft 
lips  so  near  he  could  feel  their  breath.  He 
kissed  her,  unbelieving  even  then  that  the  end 
was  near  for  her.  It  was  monstrous — impossi 
ble.  Lead  was  finding  its  way  into  the  cabin 
like  raindrops.  He  heard  the  Swede's  voice 
again,  crying  thickly  from  the  floor : 

"Hug  below  the  lower  log.  You've  got  eight 
inches.  If  you  rise  above  that  they'll  get  you," 
He  repeated  the  warning  to  Armin. 


250          THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

As  if  to  emphasize  Ms  words  there  came  a 
howl  of  agony  from  another  of  the  dogs. 

Still  closer  Philip  held  the  girl  to  him.  Her 
hands  had  crept  convulsively  to  his  neck.  He 
crushed  his  face  down  against  hers,  and  waited. 
It  came  to  him  suddenly  that  Blake  must  be 
reckoning  on  this  very  protection  which  he  was 
giving  Celie.  He  was  gambling  on  the  chance 
that  while  the  male  defenders  of  the  cabin  would 
be  wounded  or  killed  Celie  would  be  sheltered 
until  the  last  moment  from  their  fire.  If  that 
was  so,  the  firing  would  soon  cease  until  Blake 
learned  results. 

Scarcely  had  he  made  this  guess  when  the 
fusillade  ended.  Instead  of  rifle-fire  there  came 
a  sudden  strange  howl  of  voices  and  Olaf  sprang 
to  his  feet.  Philip  had  risen,  when  the  Swede's 
voice  came  to  him  in  a  choking  cry.  Prepared 
for  the  rush  he  had  expected,  Olaf  was  making 
an  observation  through  the  gun-crevice.  Sud 
denly,  without  turning  his  head,  he  yelled  back 
at  them: 

1 1 Good  God— it's  Bram— Bram  Johnson!" 

Even  Celie  realized  the  thrilling  import  of  the 
Swede's  excited  words.  Bram  Johnson!  She 
was  only  a  step  behind  Philip  when  he  reached 
the  wall.  With  him  she  looked  out.  Out  of 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  251 

that  finger  of  forest  they  were  coming — Bram 
and  his  wolves!  The  pack  was  free,  spreading 
out  fan-shape,  coming  like  the  wind!  Behind 
them  was  Bram — a  wild  and  monstrous  figure 
against  the  whiteness  of  the  plain,  bearing  in  his 
hand  a  giant  club.  His  yell  came  to  them.  It 
rose  above  all  other  sound,  like  the  cry  of  a  great 
beast.  The  wolves  came  faster,  and  then 

The  truth  fell  upon  those  in  the  cabin  with  a 
suddenness  that  stopped  the  beating  of  their 
hearts. 

Bram  Johnson  and  his  wolves  were  attacking 
the  Eskimos ! 

From  the  thrilling  spectacle  of  the  giant  mad 
man  charging  over  the  plain  behind  his  ravenous 
beasts  Philip  shifted  his  amazed  gaze  to  the 
Eskimos.  They  were  no  donger  concealing  them 
selves.  Palsied  by  a  strange  terror,  they  were 
staring  at  the  onrushing  horde  and  the  shrieking 
wolf-man.  In  those  first  appalling  moments  of 
horror  and  stupefaction  not  a  gun  was  raised  or 
a  shot  fired.  Then  there  rose  from  the  ranks  of 
the  Kogmollocks  a  strange  and  terrible  cry,  and 
in  another  moment  the  plain  between  the  forest 
and  the  snow-ridge  was  alive  with  fleeing  crea 
tures  in  whose  heavy  brains  surged  the  mon 
strous  thought  that  they  were  attacked  not  by 


252  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

man  and  beast,  but  by  devils.  And  in  that  same 
moment  it  seemed  that  Bram  Johnson  and  his 
wolves  were  among  them.  From  man  to  man  the 
beasts  leapt,  driven  on  by  the  shrieking  voice  of 
their  master;  and  now  Philip  saw  the  giant  mad 
man  overtake  one  after  another  of  the  running 
figures,  and  saw  the  crushing  force  of  his  club 
as  it  fell.  Celie  swayed  back  from  the  wall  and 
stood  with  her  hands  to  her  face.  The  Swede 
sprang  past  her,  flung  back  the  bar  to  the  door, 
and  opened  it.  Philip  was  a  step  behind  him. 
From  the  front  of  the  cabin  they  began  firing,  and 
man  after  man  crumpled  down  under  their  shots, 
If  Bram  and  his  wolves  sensed  the  shooting  in 
the  ferocity  of  their  blood-lust  they  paid  no  more 
attention  to  it  than  to  the  cries  for  mercy  that 
rose  chokingly  out  of  the  throats  of  their  enemies. 
In  another  sixty  seconds  the  visible  part  of  it  was 
over.  The  last  of  the  Kogmollocks  disappeared 
into  the  edge  of  the  forest.  After  them  went  the 
wolf -man  and  his  pack. 

Philip  faced  his  companion.  His  gun  was  hot 
— and  empty.  The  old  grin  was  in  Olaf  's  face. 
In  spite  of  it  he  shuddered. 

"We  won't  follow,"  he  said.  "Bram  and  his 
wolves  will  attend  to  the  trimmings,  and  he'll 
come  back  when  the  job  is  finished.  Meanwhile 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  25$ 

we'll  get  a  little  start  for  home,  eh!  I'm  tired  of 
this  cabin.  Forty  days  and  nights — ugh!  it  was 
hell.  Have  yon  a  spare  pipeful  of  tobacco,  PhilT 
If  you  have — let's  see,  where  did  I  leave  off  in 
that  story  about  Princess  Celie  and  the  Duke  of 
Eugni  ?" 

"The— the— what?" 

4 'Your  tobacco,  Phil!" 

In  a  dazed  fashion  Philip  handed  his  tobacco 
pouch  to  the  Swede. 

"You  said — Princess  Celie — the  Duke  of 
Eugni " 

Olaf  nodded  as  he  stuffed  his  pipe  bowl. 

"That's  it.  Armin  is  the  Duke  of  Eugni,  what 
ever  Eugni  is.  He  was  chased  off  to  Siberia  a 
good  many  years  ago,  when  Celie  was  a  kid,  that 
somebody  else  could  get  hold  of  the  Dukedom. 
Understand?  Millions  in  it,  I  suppose.  He  says 
some  of  Easputin's  old  friends  were  behind  it, 
and  that  for  a  long  time  he  was  kept  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  fortress  of  St.  Peter  and  St. 
Paul,  with  the  Neva  Eiver  running  over  his  head. 
The  friends  he  had,  most  of  them  in  exile  or 
chased  out  of  the  country,  thought  he  was  dead, 
and  some  of  these  friends  were  caring  for  Celie. 
Just  after  Easputin  was  killed,  and  before  the 
Eevolution  broke  out,  they  learned  Armin  was 


254  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

alive  and  dying  by  inches  somewhere  up  on  the 
Siberian  coast.  Celie 's  mother  was  Danish— •» 
died  almost  before  Celie  could  remember;  but 
some  of  her  relatives  and  a  bunch  of  Russian 
exiles  in  London  framed  up  a  scheme  to  get 
Armin  back,  chartered  a  ship,  sailed  with  Celie 
on  board,  and " 

Olaf  paused  to  light  his  pipe. 

<  '  And  they  found  the  Duke, ' '  he  added.  < '  They 
escaped  with  him  before  they  learned  of  the 
Revolution,  or  Armin  could  have  gone  home  with 
the  rest  of  the  Siberian  exiles  and  claimed  his 
rights.  For  a  lot  of  reasons  they  put  him  aboard 
an  American  whaler,  and  the  whaler  missed  its 
plans  by  getting  stuck  in  the  ice  for  the  winter 
up  in  Coronation  Gulf.  After  that  they  started 
out  with  dogs  and  sledge  and  guides.  There's  a 
lot  more,  but  that's  the  meat  of  it,  Phil.  I'm  go 
ing  to  leave  it  to  you  to  learn  Celie 's  language 
and  get  the  details  first-hand  from  her.  But 
she's  a  right  enough  princess,  old  man.  And  her 
Dad's  a  duke.  It's  up  to  you  to  Americanize 
'em.  Eh,  what's  that?" 

Celie  had  come  from  the  cabin  and  was  stand 
ing  at  Philip's  side,  looking  up  into  his  face,  and 
the  light  which  Olaf  saw  unhidden  in  her  eyes 
made  him  laugh  softly : 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  255 

"And  you've  got  the  job  half  done,  Phil.  The 
Duke  may  go  back  and  raise  the  devil  with  the 
people  who  put  him  in  cold  storage,  but  Lady 
Celie  is  going  to  like  America.  Yessir,  she's 
going  to  like  it  better 'n  any  other  place  on  the 
face  of  the  earth ! ' ' 

•         ••••••• 

It  was  late  that  afternoon,  traveling  slowly 
southward  over  the  trail  of  the  Coppermine,  when 
they  heard  far  behind  them  the  wailing  cry  of 
Bram  Johnson's  wolves.  The  sound  came  only 
once,  like  the  swelling  surge  of  a  sudden  sweep 
of  wind,  yet  when  they  camped  at  the  beginning 
of  darkness  Philip  was  confident  the  madman  and 
his  pack  were  close  behind  them.  Utter  exhaus 
tion  blotted  out  the  hours  for  Celie  and  himself, 
while  Olaf,  buried  in  two  heavy  Eskimo  coats  he 
had  foraged  from  the  field  of  battle,  sat  on  guard 
through  the  night.  Twice  in  the  stillness  of  his 
long  vigil  he  heard  strange  cries.  Once  it  was 
the  cry  of  a  beast.  The  second  time  it  was  that 
of  a  man. 

The  second  day,  with  dogs  refreshed,  they 
traveled  faster,  and  it  was  this  night  that  they 
camped  in  the  edge  of  timber  and  built  a  huge 
fire.  It  was  such  a  fire  as  illumined  the  space 
about  them  for  fifty  paces  or  more.,  and  it  was 


256  THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

into  this  light  that  Bram  Johnson  stalked,  so  sud 
denly  and  so  noiselessly  that  a  sharp  little  cry 
sprang  from  Celie 's  lips,  and  Olaf  and  Philip 
and  the  Duke  of  Rugni  stared  in  wide-eyed 
amazement.  In  his  right  hand  the  wolf -man  bore 
a  strange  object.  It  was  an  Eskimo  coat,  tied 
into  the  form  of  a  bag,  and  in  the  bottom  of  this 
improvision  was  a  lump  half  the  size  of  a  water 
pail.  Bram  seemed  oblivious  of  all  presence  but 
that  of  Celie.  His  eyes  were  on  her  alone  as  he 
advanced  and  with  a  weird  sound  in  his  throat 
deposited  the  bundle  at  her  feet.  In  another  mo 
ment  he  was  gone.  The  Swede  rose  slowly  from 
where  he  was  sitting,  and  speaking  casually  to 
Celie,  took  the  wolf -man's  gift  up  in  his  hands. 
Philip  observed  the  strange  look  in  his  face  as  he 
'turned  his  back  to  Celie  in  the  firelight  and 
opened  the  bag  sufficiently  to  get  a  look  inside. 
Then  he  walked  out  into  the  darkness,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  returned  without  the  bundle,  and  with 
a  laugh  apologized  to  Celie  for  his  action. 

"No  need  of  telling  her  what  it  was,"  he  said 
to  Philip  then.  "I  explained  that  it  was  foul 
meat  Bram  had  brought  in  as  a  present.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  was  Blake's  head.  You  know 
the  Kogmollocks  have  a  pretty  habit  of  pleasing  a 
friend  by  presenting  him  with  the  head  of  a  dead 


THE  GOLDEN  SNARE  25H 

enemy.    Nice   little    package   for   her   to   have 
opened,  eh?" 

•         ••••••• 

After  all,  there  are  some  very  strange  happen 
ings  in  life,  and  the  adventurers  of  the  Eoyal 
Northwest  Mounted  Police  come  upon  their  share. 
£he  case  of  Bram  Johnson,  the  mad  wolf -man  of 
the  Upper  Country,  happened  to  be  one  of  them, 
iand  filed  away  in  the  archives  of  the  Department 
Is  a  big  envelope  filled  with  official  and  personal 
"documents,  signed  and  sworn  to  by  various  peo 
ple.  There  is,  for  instance,  the  brief  and  straight 
forward  deposition  of  Corporal  Olaf  Anderson,  of 
the  Fort  Churchill  Division,  and  there  is  the 
longer  and  more  detailed  testimony  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Philip  Eaine  and  the  Duke  of  Eugni;  and 
attached  to  these  depositions  is  a  copy  of  an 
official  decision  pardoning  Bram  Johnson  and 
making  of  him  a  ward  of  the  great  Dominion  in 
stead  of  a  criminal.  He  is  no  longer  hunted. 
"Let  Bram  Johnson  alone"  is  the  word  that  had 
gone  forth  to  the  man-hunters  of  the  Service.  It 
is  a  wise  and  human  judgment.  Brain's  country 
is  big  and  wild.  And  he  and  his  wolves  still  hunt 
there  under  the  light  of  the  moon  and  the  stars. 

THE  END 


TALES  OF  ADVENTURE  IN  THE 
GREAT  NORTHWEST 

By  JAMES  OLIVER  CURWOOD 

THE  GRIZZLY  KING 

The  story  of  Thor,  the  biggest  grizzly  in  the  Rockies,  and 
the  hunter  who  pursued  but  never  shot  him. 

NOMADS  OF  THE  NORTH 

Neewa,  the  bear  cub,  and  Miki,  the  pup,  separated  from 
their  master,  grow  up  in  the  wilderness  until,  in  the  end,  they 
find  him  and  bring  to  him  the  girl  he  loves. 

SWIFT  LIGHTNING 

The  adventures  of  a  wolf  in  whose  veins  is  a  drop  of  dog 
blood.  His  desperate  combats  and  killings,  and  his  mating 
with  a  lost  collie  make  a  tale  of  breathless  suspense. 

THE  WOLF  HUNTERS 

A  tenderfoot,  a  young  Indian  and  their  faithful  guide  battle 
courageously  with  a  savage  band  of  outlaw  Indians  in  the 
Canadian  wilderness. 

THE  GOLD  HUNTERS 

A  search  for  a  lost  gold  mine  leads  the  three  heroes  of  "The 
Wolf  Hunters"  on  a  hazardous  trail  of  mystery  and  amazing 
adventure. 

BACK  TO  GOD'S  COUNTRY 

The  courage  and  devotion  of  Wapi,  the  wolf  dog,  saves  the 
life  of  a  woman  imprisoned  on  an  ice-bound  ship  in  the  Far 
North. 

THE  GOLDEN  SNARE 

Philip  Raine,  of  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  taken 
prisoner  by  the  murderer  he  is  pursuing,  finds  strange  adven 
ture  with  a  half -mad  wolf-man,  a  beautiful  girl  and  a  cour 
ageous  Swede. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP  Publishers  NEW  YORK 


ZANE  GREY  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

Packed  with  all  the  thrill  and  color  and 
action  that  have  made  this  author  famous ! 


THE  "KEN  WARD"  STORIES 

STORIES  OF  BASEBALL 

The  Young  Forester 

The  Youf  Pitcher 

Zant  Grey's  baseball  is  as 
real,  as  dramatic  and  as 

Kenneth  Ward,  a  young 

When  Ken  Ward   en 

thrilling  as  the  "western 

eastern  lad  just  out  of  pre 

tered  Wayne  College  to 

stories  that  made  him  fa 

paratory  school,  goes  west 
on  his  summer  vacation 

pursue  his  study  of  for 
estry  he  discovered  that  as 
a  freshman  he  was  on  the 

mous. 

The  Redheaded  Outfield 

to   join    a   friend,    Dick 
Leslie,   a   government 
forest  ranger  in  Arizona. 

bottom  rung  and  had  to 
fight  to  win  his  way  to 
recognition.  His  first 

The  Redheaded  Outfield 
—three  fiery-pated  players 
who  introduce  a  little  box 
ing  and  plenty  of  comedy 

Ken,    honest,    loyal    but 

claim  to  fame  comes  when 

into  the  game  will  delight 

hot-headed  runs  into 
plenty  of  excitement  and 
trouble  when  he  finds  that 
a  big  lumber  steal  is  go 

he  pummels  a  prominent 
sophomore  in  self-defense. 

Ken  Ward  in  the  Jungle 

you.  The  Rube—  who  is 
all  that  a  rube  should  be 
—appears  in  a  whole  series 
of  these  stories  and  is  a 
character  you  won't  for 

ing  on. 

Ken   Ward   and   his 

get. 

The  Young  Lion  Hunter 

younger  brother  Hal  take 
a  trip  into  the  wilds  of 

The  Short-Stop 

Ken  Ward  and  his  kid 
brother,    Hal,    spend    a 

Mexico  —  Ken  to  try  his 
hand  at  field  work  m  the 
jungle  and  Hal,  who  is 

Chase  Alloway  devel 
oped  a  mean  curve  that 
had  the  small  town  play 

eummer  on  a  forest  pre 

ambitious  to  become  a 

ers  buffaloed.  They  called 

serve  in  Utah  with  Ken's 
pal    Dick    Leslie.      The 

naturalist,  to  collect  speci 
mens.  The  boys  set  out 

him  "Chaseaway",  the 
"  Hoodoo"  and  crooked 

government  rangers    are 
out   after   the    mountain 
Jions  and  the  boys  from 
the  east  are  glad  to  share 

to  solve  the  mysteries  of 
the  Santa  Rosa  River,  an 
unknown  course  of  about 
a  hundred  and  seventy-five 
miles  through  uncharted 

eye"  and  one  small  town 
team  was  all  for  having 
him  tarred  and  feathered  ! 
A  story  crowded  with  hard 
and  fast  baseball  —  and  2 

in  the  thrilling  work. 

jungle. 

dash  of  romance  ! 

STORIES  OF  THE  GREAT  WEST 


The  Last  of  the  Plainsmen 

"He'd  rope  the  devil 
and  tie  him  down— if  the 
lasso  didn't  burn,"  it  was 
said  of  "  Buffalo  Jones," 
one  of  the  last  of  the  fa 
mous  plainsmen  who  trod 
the  trails  of  the  old  West. 
Killing  was  repulsive  to 
him  and  the  passion  of  his 
life  was  to  capture  wild 
beasts  alive. 

A  real  hunting  trip — 
with  constant  danger 
threatening  from  wild 
beasts,  Indians  and  the 
hazards  of  wild  country 
untouched  by  civilization. 


Ropisg  Lions  in  the  Grand 
Canyon 

A  true  story  of  Zane 
Grey's  experiences  captur 
ing  lions  alive,  which 
makes  ordinary  hunting 
with  guns  seem,  in  con 
trast  about  as  exciting  as 
a  Sunday-school  picnic. 
The  account  of  how  they 
captured  six  of  the  tawny, 
fiery-eyed  demons  which 
infest  the  bottom  of  the 
Grand  Canyon,  and  got 
them  into  camp  alive  and 
growling,  will  enthrall  the 
great  host  of  Zane  Grey's 
boy  readers. 


The  Last  of  the  Great  Scouts 

The  life  story  of  "Buff ate 
£ill"  by 

HELEN  CODY  WETMORE 
With  Foreivord  and  Con 
clusion  by  Zane  Grey. 

"Buffalo  Bill"— scout, 
pathfinder,  hunter  and  In 
dian  fighter  is  the  most 
famous  of  all  that  great 
company  of  frontiersmen 
who  opened  up  the  West 
for  civilization.  Indeed 
no  character  in  history 
makes  a  stronger  appeal 
to  the  imagination  than 
this  daring  hero  of  the 
old  west. 


GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DBSK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWE 

LOAN  DEPT. 


•^ 


4^° 


O 

29 


i2^7- 


UGANDA 


LD  21A-60m-10,'65 
(F7763slO)476B 


Jeneral  Library     . 
University  of  California 

Berkeley 


CD5143ED10 

.  -  -••.- 


